Forever Apart
by Annelikestowrite
Summary: Sequel to Forever Collides. A girl must make a choice. The charismatic suitor, or the staid loner. It should be easy. But secrets and lies abound, making life for Samara--Elizabeth--dangerous once again.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, swore I would never do this, but…**

**Well it's not begging really, just one friendly reminder. Please give me feedback. **

**You can say "hate this," and then copy/paste a line or paragraph. **

**You can say "love this," and then do the same as above. **

**Or "choppy," or "redundant," or "sweet," "good suspense." **

**I understand if you are shy about reviewing because you are like me and Mr. Darcy and spend too much time thinking up four syllable words. But please review! Part of the reason we post is to get feedback. Most of us on here are writers or prospective writers, this is the easiest way we can improve ourselves. **

**Okay, so that WAS begging. Sorry about that. Won't do it again. **

**That said, yes my story is odd and off the beaten path. I was getting tired of all of the same types of plots being written. So instead of complaining, I wrote my own!**

Part II of _Forever with you _series

**Forever Apart**

Which would you choose, love or duty? What if the fate of a nation was involved?

Spending time with my mother was like warm apple pie on a cold fall day. Alright, so not exactly, she wasn't perfect. She couldn't cook to save her life, and neither could I. It was a surprise that she had stayed away so long. I would have come back long ago, tail between my legs so to speak, begging the kitchen for food.

We had a dilemma before us. Well, I guess I did. She didn't care that her food was subpar (a.k.a burnt) but I was used to superior quality cooking (a.k.a. food that didn't resemble oatmeal ashes).

I was currently eying her latest "creation." It was hard, it was round, and there was some type of sticky substance on top. I think it was meant to be a cake. I would have poked at it with my finger but I didn't want any of the sticky stuff to get on my skin. It might give me hives.

"Happy Birthday, Samara!"

I looked at her in confusion. "Birthday?" I had never had one before.

She looked at me oddly for a moment before understanding lightened her features. "Yes, today January 6th 17 years ago, you were born." Then her tone turned teasing, probably trying to lighten the mood, "And the pain! Felt like my stomach was being disintegrated from the inside out…"

"Ugh! Mom! Not something I wanted to know." I slapped my palms to my ears.

"And when I saw you. You were such a pretty baby. Long dark eyelashes, thick black hair…" she sighed lost in the memory, "And Kershean, when he came to see you. He was enthralled as only a three year old can be. Touched each of your ten fingers. Stroked your hair. And then he said to me, 'She pwetty Lanta.' Daemon wasn't as impressed…"

"Wait what?"

"Oh well of course, Daemon followed Kershean everywhere he went. Little brother's are like that."

"Brothers?" I managed to choke out.

Daemon hadn't told me that. He had acted so self-righteous when I told him the others were keeping things from me. Claiming that I deserved to know the truth about my family. Yet he hadn't bothered to tell me the whole truth himself. He had hidden things from me. What was the big deal anyway? So he and Kershean were brothers. It made me wonder what else he wasn't telling me.

My mother was looking at me oddly. "Have you met Daemon?" I hadn't mentioned him. Not after my dad's reaction to our friendship. In the spirit of full disclosure I decided to talk.

"Yeah, we're friends, though maybe not as good of friends as I thought we were."

My mother pushed the cake aside, my birthday celebration forgotten, "There was a time when it looked like Kershean wasn't meant to be a leader. The priests were confused by the signs. So Daemon was conceived. His birth killed Shanti, the boys' mother, Neanderthal women rarely have more than one child."

"But he didn't say anything about this!"

My mother pursed her lips, "Yes, well, as he grew, there was something off about him. Something not quite right. I can't explain it, but as a child, he was odd.

"Still the counsel was always fighting, some sided with Daemon's claim. Others with Kershean. And you, barely a baby in my womb…" I cringed at her word choice, "You were the prize. One day you were the chosen mate of Daemon. The next, Kershean."

We hadn't talked much about her reasons for leaving, I hadn't known how to bring it up, I had just been handed the perfect opportunity, "Is that why you left?"

"Yes. You were MY child first. Not a bartering chip. Your father didn't listen. He was caught up in it all. Making prophesies of doom if the wrong boy was chosen, reading the signs." She shrugged.

"But Kershean was eventually chosen."

"Yes he was, though if Daemon ever decided to change his attitude, the leadership would be his for the taking. There are many that are still very willing to follow him. He has the, what is the word, charisma?...I believe."

"So I would mate with Daemon instead of Kershean?" I brightened at that.

My mother frowned, "Yes, but don't you see? That's why I took you away from all that. Hid you away, somewhere I never thought they would find you. The whole system is old, archaic. It is no wonder, the humans prevailed. They evolved, we did not. You had a better chance of living a normal life among those not of your kind. I didn't like that one day you would be forced to mate with one or the other based on their leadership traits like you were some type of animal!"

"But I was being forced."

My mother sighed, "I know. It was a fool's hope I suppose. There is really nowhere you can go that they won't find you."

"Why does it matter to them who I mate with anyway? All this doom stuff is silly."

"Yes, your father and I fought about that. Often in fact." She paused considering.

"That wasn't all you fought about was it?"

"No. We fought about other things."

"What other things?" I could tell she didn't want to talk about, but she was the only one who maybe would tell me the things I needed to know with just the right amount of prodding.

It seemed for a moment she was talking to herself, "I swore you would never be involved in this. That I would save you from it." Her depthless black eyes bore into mine, "Your father and his tribe have always hated the humans. Despised them so much. They want to exterminate them. Most of my tribe, the warriors, they agree. They want to breed, make powerful warriors, then take over the world."

"That's crazy!"

"For now, yes. They don't have the numbers. But someday…You will have to choose sides Samara. You will have to decide what is best for you, and best for your people. But not today.

"Now let's have some cake." I eyed it speculatively. There was no way around it. 'Death' by birthday cake.

***

The camp was in an uproar when Kershean returned after his soul search. He was anxious to see Samara, to tell her all of the things he had decided. It wasn't love, not exactly, no one spoke of love when choosing a mate. Attraction was important, similar ideals, also important. It was a good fit for him, a wonderful opportunity for her. Now he just had to get her alone.

He hadn't expected to come back to things so, disjointed. He could see his own father, and Samara's a distant away, both angry, arms were wildly flying, faces purple with indignation. And Artha, sweet Artha, her and her mate, a member of Kershean's own clan were battling it out. And Artha was winning, hands on hips, she was a picture of righteous indignation. What was happening?

And then he saw something that made his own eyes narrow. A person precariously sitting on a rock, watching the 'show' with amusement crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He stalked forward, before he realized he was moving.

"What are you doing here?" He managed to growl out.

"Ah Kershean, are you back from your ego trip?"

"It was a soul search," Kershean managed to push out between gritted teeth, "A chance to think about my duty. Not that you would know anything about that."

Daemon put his hand to his heart, "Oh you wound me big brother. But perhaps I know more about duty than you imagine. Or haven't you ever wondered why our parents saw the need to have me?"

Daemon smirked as he heard Kershean's teeth grind together in anger. "Just leave."

"Oh come now, you aren't happy to see me?"

"I would be happier to see the back of you!"

"Always so angry. You know that temper of yours coupled with your superior attitude has always been your downfall."

"What's it to you?"

Daemon jumped down from his rock, "Only this. Perhaps there are others here who would appreciate it if I was the leader."

"Oh yeah, like who?"

"Perhaps Samara." At that, Kershean's fist slammed into Daemon's still smirking face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aw! You guys!**

**Oh yeah, Disclaimer: I'm not Jane Austen. I'd never want to be in her shoes. Plus I'm a size nine. Don't think I would fit!**

**For the record, I happen to love "Casablanca."**

Chapter 2

I needed money. Lots of money.

My last Euros had literally been spent getting me here. And I wouldn't dare ask my mother. Any money I took from her would be taking away from her freedom longevity. I thought about walking back to the Neanderthal Camp and shuddered. So _not_ going to happen.

Eventually though, I would need to go back. If only to pick up Daemon and set off on our world tour. My father _knew_ I was here. Sooner, rather than later he would come for me and it would be time for me to fulfill my duty. Also, so _not_ going to happen. Better to really disappear before he could get too impatient.

I wished I hadn't left my bike on that German train. Stupid Samara!

What were my other options? As far as I knew, my mother's house was smack dab in the middle of nowhere-ville. Not a town for miles in either direction. A day of walking distance, at least. So, getting a job would be nigh on impossible. Not unless I could get there and back quickly.

I was mulling over the possibilities, trying to remain cheerful as I helped my mother hang her awful gingerbread cookies onto her trees, when suddenly she was before me, tugging on my arm,

"Somebody is coming! Get inside." I went inside, though I was unsure what my mother's plan was. It's not like she would turn a member of our tribe away.

I had only been here a few months! Apparently my father was impatient. I thought about hiding myself for a brief moment before I realized that was silly. I had tried that before and it hadn't worked. Kershean had never told me, but somehow I knew even if I was completely hidden they would find me anyway. I bet they could smell me.

It was still hard for me-I thought as I closed the door behind me-to accept what I was. Neanderthal's were such a blip in time when compared to the Homo Sapiens, that the French school system had barely bothered teaching us about them at all. Who cared? They were long gone. But they weren't gone. They… We were still here.

Trying to take over the world.

I giggled to myself. I couldn't help it. Not even a year ago, things had been so different. I heard footsteps approaching and I dived behind a sofa, anyway. Just in case! The door opened: silence.

"Samara?" I knew that voice.

"Daemon?" Perhaps my ears were deceiving me.

"Come on out love."

'Love?' My inner girl squealed. (Okay perhaps I squealed a little bit out loud too.) "You're here!" I ran towards him, collided into him and hugged him tightly. He took several steps back laughing, "So that's where my pants went!"

My face heated up, red as a tomato, "Yeah, sorry about stealing them."

He pushed me away from him, looking me over, "No, no, they look really good on you." I would have believed him except for the slightly mischievous smile that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide.

I rolled my eyes, "What are you doing here?"

His eyes were soft, "I missed you."

"You came all the way to Germany to tell me that?" My voice was soft and timid.

"Of course." He scratched the back of his neck, "And well. I want you to come back with me."

"To the camp? To stay? I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet."

He remained mute for a moment, obviously thinking about my pronouncement, then he smiled down at me, "And I'm not ready to give you up." His gaze was sharp. He really meant that! "We'll just check in before leaving alright? Tell everyone our plans?

"I don't care where we go after that. We can go to the moon, so long as I'm with you. I promised to show you the world, and I will."

When Daemon showed me the wad of Euros in his pocket my eyes widened. And just like that all my problems were solved. I wouldn't need money. Daemon had enough for both of us. I had opened my mouth to ask him where he got all those Euros, but his eyes were hard, closed off to questions. He wouldn't talk about it, that much I knew.

He hastily distracted me by asking what my travel plans were. I leaned back into the pillows on my mother's ancient chaise and thought about it. "Casablanca!"

He frowned, "Like that awful human movie. Casablanca, Morocco?"

"Yes! It's supposed to be a wonderful place. And besides I don't speak much else besides French. And that's one of the languages there. We could get jobs at a café, stay in a small flat or a cheap hotel." Finally true freedom was within my grasp!

Daemon seemed enthusiastic about it, though there was something lurking deep beneath the surface that confused me. "Alright Casablanca second. First, you get to tell your father you're leaving again."

My eyes grew wide at that. He laughed, "Don't worry, I'll be there for moral support."

I tossed a pillow at him and he ducked out of the way, "Thanks a lot!"

***

Dinner that evening was actually palatable. Probably because Daemon insisted on cooking. My mother was just as taken with him as I was, and she seemed to laugh a lot more now that he was around. We made a merry party as we sat down to eat the eggs and ham Daemon had prepared.

"Oh Daemon, this is wonderful!" My mother exclaimed.

Daemon leaned towards me and whispered in my ear, "It's a good thing we're leaving in the morning, because this is about all I know how to cook."

Did he really want to leave so soon? I was frozen for a moment. I hadn't thought about it happening so fast. He had just gotten here. But with my mother so close to us looking at us curiously, I couldn't ask him just then. Knowing her, she would insist that I leave. But I couldn't leave her all alone again. I had just gotten here myself; we were still getting to know each other.

We would save the conversation for later.

But later didn't come. We stayed up until late in the night, my mother telling us all of the stories she remembered from when I was a baby. Most of them I had heard already, but Daemon lapped them up like a thirsty dog. We laughed, we cried, but more importantly, I forgot all about the necessity to talk to Daemon about postponing our trip back.

I had just barely closed my eyes for the night when I felt myself being shaken gently. I opened my eyes blearily and saw Daemon smiling at me. "Time to go love."

"What?" I sat up slowly. "Where are…"

My mother burst in, loaded down with a basket of what looked to be food¸ "I've packed some things up for you. Come on Samara. Get a move on, you don't want to miss the train."

"Train?"

"Yes, Daemon mentioned yesterday, that you were anxious to get back to camp. And with the cold weather finally behind us for a while, he suggested that you leave immediately."

I looked at her carefully and was a bit depressed when I saw no real sadness at my departure. I guess living alone, she had grown comfortable with her solitude.

"Yeah, alright, let me just get my things." Daemon stepped out while I dressed and packed. He was waiting at the front door with the basket of food when I finally emerged.

My mother stood off the side, a bright smile on her face, her arms hugging her middle. Daemon looked at us both for a moment, "I'll just uh," he jerked his head to the forest, "I'll wait over there while you say goodbye."

Two pairs of eyes watched as he walked a distance away, then I turned to meet the gaze of my mother. "It's been wonderful having you here Samara. I wish you could stay longer, but Daemon has always been very persuasive." She wrinkled her nose and smiled.

I put my arms around her, and we hugged tightly, "I'll miss you mom." She sighed long and hard, and I knew she would miss me too.

"Follow your heart, Samara." She pulled back and stared at me, her eyes boring into mine, trying to convey a message that I couldn't seem to understand. Then she kissed my cheek and pushed me forward, "Go on now, Daemon is waiting." Then she returned to the house, and shut the door.

I walked slowly towards Daemon's silhouette at the edge of the trees, and I didn't look back. I knew she wouldn't want me to.

"All ready to go?" Daemon asked.

"Not really." I said, scowling slightly at him.

He grabbed my arm as I tried to walk past him, "Look I'm sorry about the timing," his eyes were pleading with me to understand, "But a storm is coming. If we don't go now, we'll be stuck in it. We don't have the resources to survive something like that."

I took a deep breath, "Okay. I understand. I'm just sad I had to leave so soon."

He nodded. "You're mom is great. I've always liked her. You look a lot like her you know."

I blushed, my mother was beautiful anyone with eyes could see that, "Thanks."

He grabbed my hand, and together we began walking through the trees.

"Where are we going?"

"Calw. Your mother said that you've been through there before?"

"Yes it is a lovely town." I said a bit wistfully.

He smiled indulgently at me, "Well, let the exploring begin. I think we'll have just enough time, let's start your training as a world-class traveler. Calw here we come!"

My adventures were finally beginning, and what better way than with Daemon by my side.

***

_What was he playing at? Daemon was up to something. Never before had he been so, so tenacious. It wasn't about Samara. No it couldn't be. Because if it was, Kershean knew he didn't have a chance. Not that he would ever admit to it. No, that fear was hidden deep down, only to be acknowledged in those brief moments of clarity right as he fell asleep at night, or right when he awoke in the morning. _

_Mostly he gnashed his teeth about his despicable brother. And to make matters worse, he couldn't prove anything. No Daemon was too intelligent for that. But still Kershean always knew. There was something in his eyes, or perhaps it was the way he would sneer at the elders when he thought no one was looking. The others might not want Daemon for a leader, but it had nothing to do with his more dubious nature. And everyone was blind to that side of him. Except perhaps Artha. She was more discerning than the others gave her credit for. _

_Somehow, she had always known, perhaps because she had been the one to take care of the two boys after their mother's demise. Never had he been so grateful that Artha had befriended his future mate. But Samara was too stubborn to listen. Well she wouldn't be able to discount HIS opinions so easily. _

**This isn't quite what I wanted but it will do. I got the important information across (I hope?). I've been working on the proposal scene. **


	3. Chapter 3 Revised

**Sorry, I've been MIA for awhile. I needed to decide exactly where I was going with this and the pacing. **

**I've made changes to chapter 3 and reposted it. Some of it is the same at the beginning though there is a lot of new stuff wanted a little more Kershean/Samara interaction before the big moment. Consider it Rosings. I moved the proposal to chapter 4 which should be up soon.**

**A big Thank you! to all of you who reviewed. They make my day when I see them in my inbox.**

_Chapter 3_

We arrived back at the camp much quicker than I had expected. Daemon had been right. The weather had been perfect, though off to the east, a storm appeared to be gathering.

I clutched Daemon's hand tightly. Even though he said it was necessary, I didn't want to be here. "Hardly anyone has seen us so far. Can't we just turn around? Call it a mistake?"

He laughed lightly, "Come on, where's the courageous girl I love?"

"We left her at the bottom of the hill," I muttered. Either he didn't hear me, or he chose to ignore what I had said.

The camp looked the same as it always did, ice caves, carved carefully, most of them surrounding the Old Woman's hut. A single curl of smoke flirted with the sky off in the distance; the kitchens, making us lunch. I sniffed appreciatively.

One of the older Neanderthal males approached us. I had seen him before but never been introduced. I had a feeling he was one of those my father warned me about. One of the elders who felt that females should be seen and not heard, "Ah Daemon, I see you've brought our dear Samara back to us. The council will be very pleased."

Daemon didn't say anything, just nodded and moved on. Brought me back? What did that mean? I asked Daemon the same.

"Don't worry about him. He's as crazy as they come. We'll be on our way soon enough," He answered smoothly and without an ounce of concern in his voice.

So, I believed him. Even when Artha greeted me with a hug and said, "It's so good that you're home again Samara."

And I continued to believe him when my father briefly approached, gave me a condescending pat on the back, then walked away before I could say a word.

I felt the eyes of the rest of the camp inhabitants watching me, all were smiling, save one set. I could feel them burning into the back of my head. I turned and saw Kershean, still dressed in DeWittier's army fatigues, standing with a scowl on his face, and his hands gripping his hips. Apparently, there was one person who was not happy to see me.

Ah well. I could avoid him easily. There were other things to worry about. Like when Daemon and I sat down for lunch and he started discussing tribal politics with his father. When had he ever been interested in the proper gathering of the food storage?

But the thing that struck me finally making my stomach clench was when his father rose to his feet, clasped his hand on Daemon's shoulder and said, "You'll make a fine leader."

I turned to Daemon incredulous, "Leader? What was he talking about?"

He shrugged, "Just some ideas I was mentioning to him, perhaps he's overreacting about the leadership part."

But this time I didn't believe him, "No, he was serious. You want to be leader, don't you? Instead of Kershean? My mother said something about it." Then he and I could be together! But one thing still bothered me, "But if you were leader? We couldn't leave. We couldn't travel."

He gripped my hand and looked at me pleadingly, "No that is non-negotiable. I promised you we would go. Anywhere you want. I only want _you_ to be happy. All this leadership stuff, it can wait. Let me just make sure I have the position instead of Kershean. I can't leave while it is still undecided. But once that's done, then it's just you and me, love. Okay?" He pulled me to him and held me in a comforting hug. And I almost believed him that time.

***

I was determined to avoid Kershean but he wasn't making it easy on me. He found me almost immediately the next day when I came to the dining hall for lunch. Rather I found him since he was already there. He didn't speak to me, he didn't even approach me.

What was with him sitting by himself in a gloomy cloud of forbidding brooding and glowering at everybody? I tried to avoid his gaze as I filled my plate with tender chicken and gravy and seasoned potatoes. Ah!! I had missed this stuff.

I sat down near the entrance where Daemon and I always sat, thankfully far away from the Kershean-cumulus cloud. I kept my eyes down. Don't look at him! Just ignore him. I picked up a potato and plunked it in my mouth. So far so good. I chewed it slowly. A throat cleared somewhere in the room. Not Kershean's but I looked up anyway, and right into his eyes.

Dang it!

I went back to eating my potatoes, usually my favorite. Today, they tasted like sawdust.

Suddenly Kershean was before me. He sat down without even asking for permission to join me. Someone should really teach him manners. Not me though. Someone else far, far, far away from me. I looked up at him, he was smiling slightly. I suppose it was supposed to be lightening his features, though to me he looked entirely too smug.

"It seems as if you are enjoying the food."

"Yeah it's great." Now go away!

"Must be nice to be home with your family again."

"My family, is my Mom, and she is currently back in Germany, thank you very much for bringing up that painful memory!"

He blinked, his eyes wide at my outburst. Perhaps I had overdone it, "Doesn't matter anyway. I won't be here for long."

He was perplexed, "What are you speaking of?"

"I am leaving soon. Headed for Morocco and then, the world!" I waved my potato laden fork around in a wide sweeping motion of celebration.

"You should not leave now. It is a delicate time for the tribe."

"Yeah well they've done okay without me for a few millennia. I'm sure they'll be okay for a few more."

I was privileged to see his eyes bug out of his head, "Millennia? You will be gone for so long?"

"Who knows? Maybe longer." I loved baiting him.

He frowned deeply, his eyebrows drawn in tightly, his lips pulled downward defying gravity,

"You know that," I pointed to his pinched face, "will promote premature wrinkles?"

He snorted and then stormed out. Well at least that got rid of him.

But he wasn't done with me.

The rest of the afternoon had been fairly tame. I'd gone to visit Artha, and she insisted that we do some beadwork together. And we'd resumed out habit of teaching each other words in our dominate language. But then her mate returned, and Artha had to split her focus between the two of us. He was speaking to her calmly but urgently. Her face was growing concerned. I only understood a few words, "He," "she," and "food." Whatever it was, seemed important. They probably wanted some privacy. I made my excuses and left.

I half heartedly went looking for Daemon, maybe he would be available to come have dinner with me. But he was missing from all of our usual haunts, and to make matters worse, Kershean found me, almost the moment I reentered the camp's perimeter.

"You know you should not stray far from the camp. The wilderness is a dangerous place."

I ignored him.

"Am I not allowed to be concerned about you?" He asked me quirking an eyebrow. I was not responsible for the small stomach shiver. Even though Daemon and I were together, I could not deny that if I was being entirely objective, Kershean was the handsomer of the two.

"I have thought about what you have said." Oh goody. "And I think a small trip can be arranged, but you cannot be gone for so long. I am willing to let you go for a few years at most."

_He _was willing to let me go? Was he delusional? Didn't he know that Daemon was taking his place as leader? That soon Kershean wouldn't be anything more than one of the many? I didn't bother informing him. He would get the memo eventually. Now how to get away from him?

He followed me back to my cave. Talking and dictating the whole way. I opened the fur flap, entered, then shut it in his face. A moment later I heard his footsteps move away. At least there was one place I was safe from him.

But I couldn't stay in my cave forever. I was getting hungry. I peeked outside. Not many others about. No Kershean by the Old Woman's hut. No Kershean by the kitchens. No Kershean hiding amongst the boulders waiting to ambush me. I might just make it to the dining hall.

I found myself singing a familiar spy tune, James Bond? Mission Impossible? I was never much of a fan of those types of genres. But the music seemed applicable, as I slunk my way all shifty-eyed and such towards the kitchens.

But I had underestimated Kershean in one respect. While he wasn't waiting to walk me to the dining hall, he _was_ already inside, this time sitting at the same table I had been at for lunch. Perhaps the first time had been a coincidence. Now I was starting to wonder.

I refused to be intimidated. I gathered my food, then sat down directly across from him. If he was trying to get me to change my routine, he had another thing coming. I tentatively tasted my potatoes, but already, my appetite was gone. My potatoes would remained uneaten once again.

"So Kershean," I folded my hands on the table, "Do you always come to dinner so early?"

He looked confused, I plodded onward, "I ALWAYS eat my meals early, even though everyone else seems to enjoy eating later. Isn't that a weird coincidence that we keep meeting here? Perhaps I'll just have to eat later with the others." There, he could not mistake my meaning.

We stared at each other for a long moment, he was smiling slightly his eyes sparkling happily. Good, he was just as thrilled as I was at the prospect of us never having to meet here again.

"That would be wonderful. It was nice seeing you Samara. Enjoy your meal." He nodded and smiled and then he was gone.

I ate my potatoes, much better without Kershean around to spoil them with his bad attitude.

The following day, I skipped breakfast and lunch. Well not purposely, I actually had gone off in search of Daemon and had forgotten all about eating.

Where was he?

I walked past every cave…Okay so I might have stopped outside each one and eavesdropped trying to hear his voice. And I heard a lot of things I could have done without. I kept my eyes open, looking carefully for any gatherings. Where did the council hold their meetings?

By the time I gave up searching, the dining hours were almost complete. Perfect timing. The sky was dark, moisture in the air. Fires burned intermittently along the path laden with fat so they would last through the storm that had finally arrived.

A low murmur sounded from the other diners as I neared. Just enough people that I could escape into relative anonymity.

Kershean was sitting at my usual table. And I was so sure he had understood my _not so subtle_ hint. Every other table had a few Neanderthals eating and talking together. But not at my table. If I sat there it would be just Kershean and I. Alone.

I wasn't up to dealing with him. Not after the day I'd had. I would just pick another place to eat. Perhaps right near the kitchens. Then I could go for a second helping without having to walk very far.

It was a brilliant idea, why hadn't I thought of switching tables sooner? I congratulated myself as I piled up my plate. I whirled around and nearly dropped my whole meal, plate and all.

Kershean had snuck up on me with that small smug smile of his playing on his lips, "Can I carry that for you?" He asked, even as he took the plate from me.

"Uek." I managed to squeak but he had already taken my plate and walked it across the hall to our table. No, _my table_! Lousy poacher.

I followed him slowly, but he didn't seem too concerned about my reticence.

I had just picked up my fork when he began speaking, "Where do you want to visit first? I'm not sure Morocco is such a good idea."

I shoved food into my mouth to keep myself from snarling at him.

"It could be dangerous, I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Another forkful of food. Maybe if I didn't respond, he would go away.

"You must be healthy so you can bear children."

I nearly bit the fork in half, and I could feel the prongs digging dangerously into my cheek. I could no longer stay quiet, "I don't think I'll be having children anytime soon."

"But of course you will."

I gritted my teeth, "No I don't think so!"

"But that is your mission."

I slammed my utensil down on the table and rose to my feet regally. Then _I_ stormed out. Kershean was smart enough not to follow me.

For the first time in days, I found Daemon; waiting for me outside my cave.

"Hey stranger!" He hugged me tightly to him.

"Hi," I grumbled. I was a little miffed that he hadn't been around at all since we'd gotten back to camp, and of course I was still mad at Kershean.

"What's the matter?"

"What would happen if I murdered Kershean?"

He laughed, "Oh come on, he's not that bad."

"No, seriously, we all come back to life right? Maybe I'll just end this lifetime for him and he can forget all about me. I surely won't remind him."

He suddenly looked very grave. "We don't really do that. Well I suppose…" He stayed quiet for a long moment, thinking carefully, "No, it's never happened. We protect our own, even if we are immortal."

"I was just joking." Okay, okay half joking. "There must be something I can do. Avoiding him isn't working. He keeps finding me."

"Yeah he was always pretty tenacious."

Sometimes it was easy to forget that these two were brothers, "And what about you? Are you just as tenacious?"

He looked at me hard, his eyes alight, "With things I want, you bet I am!" He gave me a small peck on the lips. After not seeing him for so long, I was disappointed. I pouted and he noticed, "Sorry love, I have to go, more council stuff." And he walked away before I could ask him how much longer we were going to be here. It started snowing, and I was feeling claustrophobic, locked in on all sides, with no way out.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A BIG THANK YOU to all of those who have read, reviewed, added this as a favorite, etc. I am so glad people are out there reading and enjoying my stuff!**_

**The proposal once again. It's been fleshed out (added some of those yummy spiced potatoes Samara loves), so give it a go once more.**

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**Chapter 4**

After that, Daemon was a little less busy. He made sure to be available to eat at least one meal with me. Perhaps it helped that the next time I saw him, I wouldn't let him leave me without promising we would spend more time together. No really, I had a vice grip on his arm as I begged and pleaded.

Pathetic? Yes. But at least it kept Kershean away.

"Daemon I don't mean to complain, but you are hardly around. And when you are, you are _always_ needed somewhere else. I just want to spend time with you. It's been days since we've even had a conversation that was more than a handful of words. "

Daemon sighed, "I know. It's not going like I thought. I know I had said that we would leave soon but…"He looked so dejected.

"It's okay." I tried to make my voice sound soothing after all of my complaining. I felt bad for blaming him for something that wasn't his fault. I was being the selfish one.

"Look, I know I've been really busy. I'll cut back on the meetings so we can spend some time together." His smile devastated any irritation I felt, like always.

***

I was humming to myself as I waited for Daemon to arrive to take me to lunch. I had taken great care with my appearance, braided my hair carefully, and washed my face clean. I considered changing my clothes. Maybe that would be a little too obvious.

I heard a throat clear on the other side of my 'door' the standard Neanderthal knock I had discovered. I grinned as I opened the fur to admit Daemon, but my mouth quickly drooped down. It was not Daemon. It was Kershean.

"Hey Kershean!" I tried to sound upbeat. I wouldn't let him drag me down today, "I was just heading out so..."

"You're not going anywhere until we have a talk." His facial muscles contorted, "That came out wrong." He rubbed his face, "I need to talk to you."

This ought to be good. I gestured towards the door desperate for witnesses in case things got ugly, "Let's go outside."

"No I'd like to stay in here if you don't mind."

I clenched my jaw, "Alright." Did we always have to disagree about everything?

"Look, it's not like you have much of a choice…What I mean is, Samara," He paused and took a very deep breath before blowing it all out in one whoosh, "I love you."

Well that was unexpected. I propped myself up against the ice cave's inner wall before I fell over.

"I know it doesn't really matter how we feel about each other. You'll be my mate whether you like it or not…"

"Excuse me?"

"You know we are destined to be together. Our children will be strong. Beautiful. Smart."

I was officially lost. "What are you trying to say?"

"I wanted to tell you that I love you. I wanted you to know that I feel strongly for you and that you could not do better. I'm handsome, virile, and strong. I will make a good leader some day. You might not be exactly who I always pictured, let's face it, you aren't the most tactful…"

I guffawed, interrupting him, "You of all people are telling me I'm not tactful? You can't even get through this without insulting me. Pardon me for being a little doubtful of your good intentions."

"I have only ever told the truth. You are an immature girl and a complainer, not yet a woman. But I'm willing to overlook these things. With time and proper guidance, I am sure you will grow to be the ideal Exium Solus woman. A true example to others."

"Grow to be the ideal?" I poked him in the chest, "Did you ever think that it was your abrasive attitude that brings out the worst in me?"

He blinked once, and then a long succession of fast ones.

I didn't wait for him to collect himself; there were a lot of things I wanted to get off my chest, "From the moment I met you, you've been the antithesis of charming. You've scowled, yelled, and slighted me to my face _and_ behind my back. Why would I ever want to be with you?"

"Well, you aren't perfect, I thought you would appreciate my honesty."

"Well, if we are being _honest_ Kershean, you don't have a chance in Hell at being leader. You are rude, abrasive, and overly cocky. Daemon has been in talks with the leaders for the last few days. I hate to break it to you, but he _is_ my choice, and from how the negotiations are going, the council's too."

"Daemon and you?" His voice was quiet, disbelieving.

"I'm not sure how you didn't notice, but yes, Daemon and I are together."

"But you are meant to be mine!"

"I am not an object Kershean."

"You are a female!"

"Geez when you stick your foot in your mouth, you really jam it all in there don't you?"

He didn't seem to understand the sentiment, his mouth opened and closed several times. At that moment I took a step back, realizing how differently we had been raised. Perhaps his speech would have worked if I had been Artha, or one of the other young women of the tribe. But I was not like them, and I couldn't pretend. Especially not with him.

"But we love each other!" His words lacked luster, like a beggar he pleaded, hoping without believing that they would change my mind.

Once again, he'd chosen the wrong thing to say. How could he have possibly deluded himself so completely, "Love?! I can hardly stand you! You are completely delusional if you think I have any feelings for you."

He waved me off, "I'm sure in time you will come to care for me as I care for you."

"I highly doubt that. You are the last man I would ever choose. Especially not when Daemon is the alternative."

"Daemon is not worth your time," he snorted, that self-righteous tone that I had always hated present in his voice.

I instantly bristled, "Daemon is kind and considerate, what a true man should be. You on the other hand…" I let my words hang in the air, taunting him.

There was something in his eyes that I didn't like, an inner vulnerability I had never noticed before that made me feel like such a lout, because I was obviously the one who had sparked it. Almost immediately it was gone, making me wonder if I'd even seen it at all, and he faced away from me, moving to the far corner of the cave, where my formal dresses from when I'd first been presented to the tribe hung. He fingered the sleeve of one, seemingly feeling for each one of the fibers. He sighed loudly composing himself I supposed.

He whipped back around to face me ready to do battle once again, "Daemon's not who you think he is," he said calmly, only his eyes betrayed his anger, "He is cruel and heartless. He would risk everything for his own happiness."

I refused to be cowed, in a low and deadly voice, I answered him, "It sounds like you just described yourself."

His hands curled into fists at his side and for a moment I thought he might strike me. He must have seen the terror on my face, for quickly his fists shot up to his hair instead, tearing it from his scalp. "Look you don't know him the way I do."

"You're right, I don't. I know him better than you do."

"Argh! Could you _be_ any more pigheaded about this? By the demon you are stubborn!"

I opened my fur door. "I've think you've said enough. You have insulted me in every way possible. I have made my choice! I want you to leave."

He stared at me for a long moment, before finally stomping out. I didn't watch him leave after he passed my threshold. Later Artha told me that Kershean had packed up all his belongings and took off. He hadn't said a word to anyone.

***

He couldn't help the small bit of doubt that crept into him mind. Daemon as the leader? Replacing him? Over the years, he had heard the rumors. The little whispers he wasn't supposed to catch, _"Daemon has the charisma." "Kershean is too stiff." "If only Daemon wanted to be leader…"_ That one he had laughed off. Yeah right!

Kershean knew exactly how Daemon was. He had seen it. He had seen it all.

_At 9, Kershean was just learning how to be an effective scout. The wind blew the scent of a deer to him, still a distance away. The heady smell of its warm hide, its hooves covered in mud as it drank cool water from a mountain stream. _

_He could also smell something else. His little brother! Not too terribly far behind him, and making a racket as he moved through the trees. What was he doing? Then just as Kershean determined to go and head him off, his movements abruptly stopped. Kershean waited, but no further sounds were heard. _

_He continued on to where the deer was. With this kill, made entirely all on his own, he would be welcomed in as an apprentice scout. And perhaps he would finally earn some of his father's praise. His father didn't give him nearly as much attention as Daemon got. The nine year old had gotten little attention since his mother had died._

_He refocused on the deer. He could hear the babbling of the brook, the watering hole for his prey. The deer was lapping up water calmly; Kershean's presence was still unknown to it. He crept up further still, and notched an arrow through his bow. He squared his shoulders and pulled back on the bowstring. He took aim and smiled. _

_A *pftt* sounded off to his left, and the deer went down, another arrow in its gut. Kershean's hand dropped, flabbergasted. Who could possibly?_

_He got his answer soon enough. Daemon strode from the trees as well as any eight year old could, a bow hanging off his shoulder. He looked smug, entirely too proud of himself. _

_Kershean stomped towards him, "What are you doing here?"_

"_I followed you. Didn't figure you would follow through with it!"_

_Kershean shoved his bow in his brother's face to his credit, Daemon didn't even flinch, "I was all ready to fire. That was my kill! This was my responsibility. I'm the one learning to be the scout."_

"_Yeah right. Father only let you try because he felt sorry for you. And since I made the kill for you, you won't have a chance now."_

"_But I tracked it!"_

"_And I killed it! It has my arrow in its gut. Nobody will ever believe that YOU found it and then let ME kill it. I'll get the credit for all of it!" Daemon had been smug. _

And he had been right. When the boys' father had caught up to the pair, there had been all praise for Daemon for his superior tracking of the animal, and nothing but criticisms for Kershean. Daemon became the apprentice scout. And Kershean was still the nothing.

_Kershean dashed after his brother, pulling his arm, "Daemon? How can you leave like that! Master Kennon, says you have a two more years before your training is complete. You can't just abandon him!"_

"_I'm growing bored of being a scout. It wasn't as fun as I expected it to be. I'm going to see what the world has to offer."_

"_But your training?"_

"_Hang the training. If it's so important to you, why don't you complete it for me?" Daemon grinned evilly, "Oh that's right, because you were never as good at it as I was." _

_Then he tugged his arm free from Kershean's grip and set off, away from the camp, a pack over his shoulder._

So Kershean took over Daemon's training. He became the scout he always wanted to be. Learning to read the land, hear the plants move. But it was bittersweet. Nothing but Daemon's leftovers that's what the position came to mean to him. And his father still spoke of Daemon's superiority. Kershean was always the default, always the "just in case." And now, everything he had ever wanted was being taken away from him once again.

He sat on a rock and contemplated it all.

For so long, leading the tribe had been expected of him. He had been prepared in place of Daemon. It wasn't necessarily what he wanted, but ever the dutiful son, he had accepted it. Especially to please his father, to make up for Daemon neglect. But now Daemon was here to take it from him.

It didn't hurt as much as he had expected it to. It was a small drop of chagrin that flowed through his veins as he contemplated what it would mean to not be the leader. It didn't matter to him either way. Let Daemon take over. Kershean could go rogue. Enough Neanderthals had done it in the past.

But Samara? He clenched his fists at his side. "She was mine!" He shouted to the empty forest. "She is meant to be mine! Just like the deer, and the apprentice tracker position. Daemon only wanted them because they were meant for me. And he will abandon her too! When he gets tired of her, Samara will be just another one of Daemon's failed aspirations." He closed his tormented eyes and breathed heavily until he felt himself calming down.

He shouldn't have let his temper get to him. Then maybe she would have listened to him. Maybe she would have believed him when he said that Daemon was no good.

And now, here he sat on an uncomfortable piece of granite, with no one but the trees for company, alone, and unwanted. How could he ever convince Samara that she was all _he_ needed for eternal happiness? She had said he was the last man she would ever choose. Was he really that bad? He had to prove himself. But how?

Why was Samara any different from all the other woman who had swooned at his feet? Why was she making it so difficult for him? The little voice at the back his head spoke up, "You like that about her." He told the little voice to shove it. Well not in those exact words, but you get the idea.

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_**Teaser for next chapter: A drunk Kershean learns what an 'oaf' is…**_

_That word was unfamiliar to Kershean, "Oaf?"_

"_You know a guy that's cocky, rude. That kind of thing. And from what I've seen, you are the model for the word."_

_This was what Samara had called him though her words had been far more descriptive and much more damaging. He buried his face in his hands. "I lost her, because I am an oaf."_


	5. Chapter 5

**I've been reading Pamela Aiden. I love her portrayal of Darcy. Hopefully I've been able to channel her. Even if it's just a little bit.**

**Chapter 5**

Unfortunately for Kershean, he began his planning with copious amounts of alcohol. For a first time drinker, it wasn't his smartest move. He was pretty sure he was drunk. Either that or there were two identical serving girls at the pub he'd eventually found. Or was it a café? It had been bright and cheery when he had entered looking for somewhere to fade into anonymity, and nurse his sorrows with something strong. Now it was mostly empty as the late night hours ticked slowly towards the morning dawn. But as long as they were willing to serve him, he would be willing to drink.

Alcohol doesn't necessary make people wise, for now he was livid in his drunkenness. _How dare she refuse me. Me! _She had mistaken his confidence for brashness. How could she not tell the difference? Obviously her experience with the world of the Neanderthal was woefully small. She should have taken the time to observe more to learn more about her people. Then she would have understood him, would have accepted the way he was. He was just like the others. Even Daemon. She had been living a lie for too long. She would realize eventually that she was thinking to much like a human, that she was expecting him and all the others to be humble. The Exium Solus, _were _superior; fact. There was no room for humility. And he was the greatest of them all; also a fact.

And he was currently out of alcohol."Serving wench!" He waved his empty glass. "Another!"

The two girls both identically dressed in black approached him, and his eyes crossed. Ah, only one serving girl, much better. "You know, we're called servers now, or waitresses." Another impudent female! She was crossing her hands over her chest, staring imperiously down at him. Just like Samara, she had not been affected by his superior presence. Didn't she understand who he was?

"Not that it matters!" He tried to sneer at her, but he wasn't sure it came out the way he planned, from the way she grinned down at him, "Just get me another!"

She refilled his glass with the amber liquid. He swallowed down half of it, wincing. "First time drinker huh? Perhaps you've had enough."

It took his a moment to understand what she was saying, then he exploded, "Who are you to cut me off? You have no idea who _I_ am. What _I've_ been through!"

"Look, I don't care who you are. Frankly, I've seen more than enough people come through here, trying to drink their sorrows away. That being said, this is my family's café, and I won't let you sit there and insult me."

Just like Samara, this girl insisted on respect. He closed his eyes, mortified. He had done it again hadn't he? What had he become?

She must have seen something on his face that spoke to her inner conscience. Her frown was gone in a moment. Her eyes suddenly kind. She sat down in the wicker-backed chair opposite him. And looked him over critically.

He scowled at her. Couldn't she tell he wanted to be alone. Women! All the same. Never understanding. Especially not Samara. So what if he had bungled his proposal. Why hadn't she understood what he meant to say? He told her he loved her. Didn't that mean something? She should have dropped to her knees at his feet and begged him to be her mate. She should have loved him. Why didn't she love him?

"Let me guess. A woman; am I right?"

He took another drink, then swirled the liquid in the glass watching it ripple and crash into the sides, avoiding the server girl's eye.

"Yup. Definitely a woman," she concluded. He threw back the last of the amber liquid. "And from the way you're drinking that cognac, she left you high and dry didn't she?"

"I don't really want to talk to a stranger about this."

She rolled her eyes and in that moment she looked very much like Samara. "Fine. I'm Ricky. Waitress extraordinaire. I like long walks in the park, raspberry parfait, and I'm hoping to enroll at university next year. Now I'm not a stranger."

There was something about this particular human. His tongue suddenly loosened, "I asked her to be my mate."

"And she said 'no.'" She wasn't at all surprised that he had been rejected. Not even a little bit. That definitely stung. How could she have known?

"She didn't just say no. She insulted me. Told me, I was cruel and heartless, and the last man she would ever be with." It had destroyed him, but he could never tell this girl that. He gripped his pride by its fraying threads, trying to form a barrier of protection around himself.

Ricky snorted, "You know you're a handsome guy, talk like a gentleman, but, you sure act like an oaf."

That word was unfamiliar to Kershean, "Oaf?"

"You know, a guy that's cocky, rude. That kind of thing. And from what I've seen, you were obviously the model for the word."

He buried his face in his hands. That was what Samara had called him though her words had been far more descriptive and damaging. "I lost her, because I'm an oaf."

The girl laughed at him, mockingly he was sure. He thought he heard her mumble something under her voice, "Clueless."

The alcohol hadn't just loosened his tongue. His thoughts shamelessly refused to quiet, reminding him of how clueless he truly was. For once in his life, in the depth of his misery, he supposed she was right. Just hours ago, he had thought Samara easy enough to understand. 'Of course she had wanted him,' he had told himself. She had been waiting for him to make his move, definitely. Telling him when she liked to visit the dining hall for meals; a hint for future rendez-vous. She wanted to spend time with him. Her impatience was only because he wasn't making his move. He had wanted to wait for the right moment to tell her how he felt. But he had misunderstood her. Entirely. She wanted nothing to do with him. She thought he was subpar.

Ricky stared at him for a long moment, he knew she was staring but he couldn't meet her eyes. He was too humiliated. "Is she worth it?" She finally asked.

"Worth what?"

She looked at him like he was crazy, "Do you want her?"

"More than anything." He hadn't cried since his mother had died, but he could feel his eyes stinging.

She slapped her hand down on the table, "So, stop being an oaf."

***

Those words swirled around in his head, sometimes making him dizzy, sometimes making him angry. As he sobered, he realized many things. First and foremost, Ricky was right. He had been living under a misapprehension for too long. If a stranger could see how abrasive his personality was, then anyone who had spent more time with him would easily witness the same lapses. No wonder Samara had noticed.

"Stop being an oaf?" Yeah he could do that! He wasn't sure exactly how he would do it, right now he was waiting for his brain to reassemble itself from where it was lying in a puddle of hangover ooze on the pavement. _I'll never drink again_, he thought. He would have said it, to make it more of an oath of promise, but his tongue felt far too big and dry in his mouth.

Samara's words were returning to him, like mini sledgehammers. _"You are the last man I would ever choose."_ He didn't even have time to question that, for her next words flowed to him. She had said he was untactful, abrasive, dreary, rude and cocky. She had said he was cruel and heartless. "_It sounds like you just described yourself." _Those had been her words when he had tried to warn her about his brother. _"You are the last man I would ever choose."_Worst of all, Daemon was her choice.

"_Did you ever think that it was your abrasive attitude that brings out the worst in me?"_ Was that true? He remembered back at her lycée, when he had seen her interact with that human Jamie. She had been all smiles, and laughter and good conversation. That was the Samara he wanted. The Samara he loved. Occasionally, she had been just as warm and inviting with him. Like the oaf he was, he demanded that she alter her personality, without any thought as to why she was acting so adverse to him. He had thought her inconsistent. He had expected her to change! To obey him and be as cheerful with him as she was with all others.

And through all of this, he hadn't considered himself. His faults. All he had shown her over the course of their relationship was his negative personality. She was right. _"From the moment I met you, you've been the antithesis of charming. You've scowled, yelled, and slighted me to my face and behind my back."_ He had treated her abominably in the forest as they traveled together. Poured out his frustrations onto her. And once they had arrived in camp…he thought of the words he'd shared with her father, so strong in their vitriol. And she had heard every single one of them. Oh how he regretted those, now. Why _would_ she ever want to be with him? He couldn't think of a single reason. Couldn't even remember his indignation from the evening before.

He had never been tactful; that was true. Always saying exactly what was on his mind, not worrying who he hurt or who he insulted. And left on his own as he often was, he hadn't bothered to teach himself otherwise. Daemon was the tactful one, the charismatic one, coupled with a hidden darkness, a heart as black as the night sky.

"_I can hardly stand you. You are completely delusional if you think I have any feelings for you."_ And that was the one that had sent him to the café, and made him order that first drink. And the subsequent drinks.

He wasn't that bad was he? Even as he asked himself that question he heard the whispered _Yes_ from his subconscious. His life had been a long list of disappointments, always falling short of his father's expectations, his brother's, the other leaders', and finally Samara's. Had it always been his attitude that had doomed him to failure? Most likely, he begrudgingly admitted. So he would be better. Stop being an oaf. Treat others with respect. Even immature girls who don't seem to deserve it. _That was low,_ his conscience demanded. He was inwardly repentant, and was thrilled that at least he hadn't said it out loud. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

Now why was he lying on the pavement? He had left his home with money in his pocket. Why hadn't he found an inn, or at least an obliging pile of leaves. He could feel the skin of his cheek being torn by the small concrete rocks of the sidewalk, as he cringed against the light of the sun. It had been perfectly stormy when he left home. Why had the sun decided to make its reappearance today of all days?

His legs felt like they had gotten up in the middle of the night and run a marathon. Or two. And his arms? He couldn't even lift them. Made of something gelatinous definitely. And his stomach? But he didn't dare think too much about his stomach. He had already lost most of its contents during the night.

It was early morning, and he heard the approach of footsteps, and felt them reverberate against his cheek further ingraining the rocks into his skin tearing the skin cells apart. He held off cringing again, knowing it would only make things worse.

He became aware of voices. The owners' of the approaching footsteps; two women, loudly conversing, not caring who heard, "Yeah it would have been wonderful if it had worked out for her. But you know rich men are always so eccentric. Making promises that they never intend to keep." Clack, clack, their heeled shoes came closer. One impatient and sharp, the other lolled along but still kept up with the fast pace of the other; an enigma. Singular. Kershean found himself curious about that set of footsteps.

"I don't know. Maybe he did mean to do something about it."

"What do you mean?" The first voice was skeptical. Definitely the owner of the staccato footsteps.

"Didn't you hear? DeWittier never came back to Paris. The last place anyone knew him to be, was here. Danielle thinks she'll even be questioned in his disappearance since she was one of the last to see him."

"And what is she going to tell them. You don't mean something was going on with them?" The first voice was playing coy, even though Kershean could tell the woman was anything but. Just a common gossip monger that one.

"Nothing!" The voice was soft but steely. He remembered the languid but powerful steps of the other woman. The enigma amongst the sheep. Perhaps humans were stronger than he had imagined, "The only relationship between them was employer and potential employee. You know Danielle isn't like that."

"Yes, well, you never know. Charles DeWittier is very rich, and very single. A woman like Danielle would be foolish to pass up such an opportunity. I suppose she wouldn't have much else to offer the Inspectors on the case if their relationship was purely innocent."

Even in his muddled state, Kershean would never forget the name of Charles DeWittier. The man who wanted an Eternal existence and didn't care what it cost. Or how many lives he ruined. He would never forget Samara's terror of the man. So the villain had stopped in this village on his way up the mountain? But what about the time in between. How had he gotten to the camp? It had been impossible for him to follow Kershean, _I made sure of that, once I led him away from Samara_. And then Kershean had doubled back. At first he was determined to catch up to her. But then he found that he quite like watching out for Samara without her knowing. It was certainly quieter-getting her nourishment, erasing her travels through the snow while equally making sure his tracks would be unaccounted for-without her comments. And through all of that, how had DeWittier still managed to follow them?

The enigma spoke again defending her friend, "Danielle isn't like that! And she does have something of importance to tell the Inspectors. She said that DeWittier told her before he left town that he would be meeting up with a friend somewhere up in the Alps that would open up new business contacts."

"Weird place to do business."

"That's exactly what Danielle said. That was why she remembered the conversation." The woman's voice was moving away from Kershean's resting place. The tinkling of a bell sounded, and a door latched. They had entered a shop.

His mind was a whirl, his hangover long forgotten. DeWittier meeting someone. On the hill? Outside the boundaries of the camp. Who could it be? And suddenly he felt sick to his stomach as he considered the possibilities. One of their own had sold them out. He had to get to Paris, to figure this whole mess out. He would start at the beginning, with DeWittier.

And maybe somewhere along the way, he would become worthy of Samara. He would win her somehow, no matter what it cost him.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Back to Samara…**_

**Chapter 6**

Kershean.

Kershean…

No! Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Wasn't going to think about him. Wasn't going to think about what he said. He loves me? He wants me? He thinks I'm immature. I needed something else to focus on.

A weird oppressiveness had settled across the camp. I wondered what was going on. There was little chatter in the dining hall, and it had been days since I had heard a laugh from anyone.

And Artha? Well somehow she had realized that Kershean had left because of me-I guess not everyone was throwing their support behind Daemon-and she definitely wasn't happy about it. While she was still everything sweet and kind to me, she didn't bother with conversation as we sat and weaved our beads together. And that left me a lot of time to think. A dangerous pastime. The first time my thoughts shifted to Kershean, I knew I was doomed.

I rose, bid Artha a hasty goodbye, and went looking for something to occupy both my body _and_ my time. Daemon and I had been back at the camp for a solid week now. Surely, we would leave soon. Periodically, Daemon made sure to reassure me that our trip was only days away. But he was so busy with tribal things that he probably hadn't had any time to even think about it, let alone plan anything. So we would need a plan.

Under a discarded fur in the corner of my cave, I discovered all of my old train tables and maps. I had grabbed as many as seemed applicable when I had traveled to Germany, and now I had quite a wide range of travel route possibilities.

I spread everything I had in front me and got to work. What was the best way to get to Morocco? Plane certainly, but I didn't have a passport. While I could travel within any European Union countries without one, I knew that didn't apply to the rest of the world's borders.

We would have to find another way. Perhaps some merchant ship captain wouldn't mind transporting us over the Strait of Gibraltar. And it seemed plausible that most of them would be in Southern Spain.

Now how to get to Spain? Kershean would have walked.

Kershean…

No, not thinking about him!

I refocused. By foot was dangerous at this time of year. And I wasn't the greatest hiker. It would take too long. I winced as I thought of my feet, just recently healed from my last cross-country walk.

Train travel was still expensive and conversely, also the most affordable and practical when compared with the alternatives. I wasn't going to steal a car, and even if I did, I didn't know how to drive. A bus would be cheaper than traveling by train initially, but there weren't many buses that traveled across Europe. That's what the trains were for.

Perhaps I would need to go down to the village and scrounge up some more timetables. I poked around my cave looking for more appropriate clothes. I knew I hadn't given Daemon back his extra pair of snow pants…Why weren't they here?

Daemon suddenly tracked into my cave his face brooding and forbidding. For once I could definitely see the family resemblance between him and Kershean.

"Daemon? What's wrong?"

He didn't answer me. He picked up one of my maps and looked at it carefully, taking note of the marks I had made, "What is all of this?" There was something different about his voice, but I couldn't place it.

"I'm planning our trip. Train travel is pricey, but I think it's the best bet. Better than plane since I don't have a passport…"

"This is going to be very expensive," his eyes narrowed.

I felt a lurch in my gut, "Yes but I thought you said we could find the money."

"Geez Samara! Already spending my money?"

My mouth fell open.

"What do you mean? I thought you were okay with this?"

"That was before I knew how much you were expecting from me to cover of the expenses." He countered.

I was floored, where had all this hostility come from? "What's going on?" Were his meetings with the leaders not going the way he had planned?

"What's going on, is my girlfriend is looking for a free ride!"

It was the first time he had called me his girlfriend, but I barely noticed, "No! I thought it would be something we could do together."

"And just what are your skills Samara? You don't cook, you don't weave, you gave up on learning pottery soon enough. How exactly were you planning on pulling your weight?" His tone was hard, sarcastic. I didn't like it. When I didn't say anything, his eyes turned cold, "Well? I'm waiting."

"I could waitress? Maybe, work in a bookshop?"

He snorted, it was an evil sound. "If you haven't noticed, there aren't any cafes or bookstores around here." What was with him today?

I swallowed the lump in my throat, "Well I was thinking I could go down to the village, maybe as far as Cannes?"

"No, babe. NO leaving the camp. I forbid it."

I should have bristled, I should have shouted out that I was my own person and he couldn't forbid me to do anything. But I was too shocked. Too eager to blame Daemon's puzzling attitude on other things. "Maybe I can try the pottery thing again," I said instead in a quiet voice.

"Yeah, you do that," Daemon sneered. He actually sneered. At me.

Then he turned on his heel and left. I followed him hoping he was still planning to take me to lunch but he was walking really fast, his body tight. The sun was blaring, the kitchens were busy, and Daemon was gone. We wouldn't be eating together today.

I breathed in and out, trying to stop the tingling sensation occurring in my eyes. I nearly ran back to my cave barely pulling the fur closed behind me before bursting into tears. I cried for myself. I felt like such an idiot.

I cried for Daemon. What had happened to put him in such a foul mood? Did he really feel like I was a burden? I would be better. I would be a valued member of the tribe. I would prove my worth.

I cried for Kershean. That he should think so little of me! It hurt. A lot. He had spoken the truth; I was young, and not exactly mature. But his words had been so cruel. And they cut me to the bone. I really was trying to fit in, to be more understanding. Even though I was struggling I tried not to let it show.

It especially hurt that he had chiefly been judging me based on situations of which I'd had little control. All the time we spent traveling I had been in the dark-not knowing where he was leading me, or even if he could be trusted. I was constantly scared and perhaps a little lonely. Not my best moments.

Hadn't I been kind to him lately, even when he'd invaded my space? How could he treat someone he allegedly loved so cruelly?

Two boys, both who claimed to care. Both of them telling me I was woefully inadequate. Well at least there was something I could do about one of them. Instead of going to look for Daemon, something the old Samara would have done, I waited for him to come to me. I did my hair the way he liked it. I wore one of my pretty dresses.

And when he came the next day to pick me up for lunch, he was all smiles. I was timid about mentioning what had happened the day before, but he brought it up immediately. He pulled me into a strong hug and spoke softly into my ear, "I am so sorry about yesterday. Forgive me?"

How could I stay mad? His voice was so repentant. "Of course I forgive you."

He pulled back and looked me over, I smiled softly, and he grinned in response. His eyes shifted from my own, then down to my lips, then back up, asking. I pulled him to me, my answer. The kiss was different from all the others. More matured I suppose, since we'd had our first fight. We understood each other better now. And I was determined to not be that little girl anymore.

Our walk to lunch was nice, he held my hand, we smiled and spoke of inconsequential things. He seemed happy, freer even, perhaps he would appreciate me more if I showed a greater interest in what was happening with the tribe.

I pulled him to a distant corner of the dining hall and tried to ignore the fact that it was the very table that I had seen Kershean sitting at a mere 7 days before.

"Wait here." Daemon deposited me on a pillow, and then gathered both of us some food. A true gentleman.

"So how are the talks going?" I waited a full thirty seconds to ask him once he had sat down. Still it came out sounding eager. I tried to look natural.

He gulped down the bite of food he'd been chewing, "Good everything is fine."

I had forgiven him, but I couldn't help but frown a bit at what he'd said. If things were as "fine" as he said then why had he been so moody yesterday?

"What's being discussed?" I tried again after a few more moments.

"Oh this and that." Was he deliberately trying to be vague?

"Are we still going to need to gather and store up as much food with the spring months coming?"

It was odd question I knew, and he obviously agreed with me-one eyebrow rose up-but it was the only thing he had really discussed within my hearing, "Why are you asking me about food storage?"

He was on to me. I'm pretty sure my face turned slightly red in embarrassment. "I just wanted to know what you guys talk about."

His spoon dropped to the table and he turned to face me fully, "Samara, I don't think that is a good idea."

"But why? Maybe if you had someone to talk to…" I didn't say anything more, I hadn't meant to add that last part.

His eyes narrowed, "What, you think you are some kind of shrink now?"

"No I…" my voice was low. "I just want to help if I can," I finally finished in a small voice.

The left side of his mouth crooked up, "Ah love. That is so sweet. But it's not really a woman thing."

"What do you mean by that?" I could feel the hairs on my arm standing in indignation.

But he didn't back down the way I expected him to, "Love, you're smart. Smarter than most women, but the tribal council is no place for you."

I gaped at him. He was serious! "I can't believe you just said that."

He shoved a final bite in his mouth before he rose to his feet and leaned in close to my face, "I wouldn't make a habit of disagreeing with me in public, alright?"

I held back the shiver that was desperate to run down my spine. Who was this, and what had he done with Daemon? This Daemon didn't move, just stood menacing above me, I realized his question hadn't been rhetorical. He was waiting for me to promise to be more agreeable.

One word, that was all it would take, but I could barely get it past my tongue. "Okay," I finally choked out.

His fingers ran from my ear to my chin and his look was positively condescending, "Good girl. Now I have to get back to work."

I remembered who I had been a paltry seven days ago. What was happening to me?

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**Alright, I have a question for everybody. I've been reading some Persuasion fanfiction, over on (If you haven't checked it out, you should. Go, go, go!) and something has been bothering me, so I thought I would ask you guys, my few readers (*hugs* *kisses* *loves*), what you thought.**

**Why DID Louisa and Benwick really get together? It couldn't have been over poetry-I just don't believe it. Maudlin poetry? Really? **

**Everyone admits that Phoebe Harville was and IS her superior. So what was the deal? Loneliness? A compromising situation? I refuse to believe that Austen just wrote them off in order to get Anne and Fredrick back together.**

**Perhaps I could write a story and answer that question, but I confess I never liked either of them much. **

**So I thought I would ask and see if anyone has ever solved the great mystery…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Kershean continues...**

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Chapter 7

So how does one not be an oaf? Particularly when one has just discovered what had been his problem for most of his life. Were there classes? Probably not. He had the feeling that the only way would be to practice. And he would need to mind his words. Apparently not everyone appreciated his brand of honesty.

He contemplated all this as he walked through the forests of southern France, and as he tried to stay warm by his roaring fire during the chill of the evenings. His only interaction with anyone apart from the few rabbits he had killed for his dinner had been the woman Ricky back in Lyon. He thought about it. She hadn't seemed to hate him. Even with his temper, she had seemed fairly accepting of him, particularly when she discovered what his troubles were. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned in all of this. Maybe humans weren't so bad after all. And maybe if he practiced interacting with them, he would be better equipped to win a certain raven-haired beauty over.

A storm was coming. He could smell it in the wind, and feel it tingling the bone of his forearm, the slight arthritis that had set in after Daemon had broken it in a fit of anger when they were young teenagers. He would need to move into a town and wait it out. The pain in his arm was intense, it had rarely been so bad. He would not survive the storm if he stayed amongst the elements.

He found the autoroute, modeled after the great freeways of America. It was dark and disserted. He moved parallel to the route nationale, small and in disrepair, but still with a few stubborn travelers. He walked alongside it trying to ignore the slowing cars, and gawlking humans. He suspected that hitchhikers were uncommon in this part France. A sign at the next round-a-bout announced a town 3 kilometers to the left. He was almost there. Even if there wasn't an inn, there would certainly be a place where he could sit through the storm.

The town-if it could be called that-was tiny. No inns, and no cafes, just a small tabac stand, with a few tables and a handwritten sign that advertised cheese and baguette sandwiches. A large cathedral a staple of all French towns grew above the trees and overshadowed everything else. And of course a boulangerie; now closed.

The tabac was still open, the lights were bright against the darkening sky. He sat on one of the plastic chairs in front of the tabac, at least it was engulfed under a small umbrella awning.

But not a worker to be seen. "Serv…Uh, waitress?" Already, he was making progress towards not being an oaf!

A small harried woman suddenly emerged from behind the counter. Her hair was frazzled, her shirt was wrinkled. She looked like she'd had a very hard day. Perhaps if he was kind to her, the day would improve. For both of them,

"Is it possible to get something to drink?" He quickly qualified, "Some fruit juice?" no more alcohol for him. If he was to practice not being an oaf, he would need to have a clear head.

She approached his table slowly, as if he were some type of predator. He smiled at her, making sure to show all his teeth and allow his eyes to crinkle at the edges. Just as a friend would!

"I'll uh, just get that for you," she said as she backed away slowly and positioned herself betwixt the counter and himself. She never took her eyes off him, even as she pulled a glass from a high shelf, and filled it with a dark liquid. She sidestepped her way around the counter, her eyes still on him, and then approached his table carefully. All the while, he smiled, and raised his eyebrows, trying to make her more comfortable. *Clang* the glass hit the table, and the waitress fled.

So that hadn't gone as well as he had expected.

Kershean's smile dimmed, and he finally looked away from the counter, when it was clear that she wouldn't be coming back. It had started to rain, a light cadenced rhythmic symphony falling on the umbrella at his table, and breaking up the silence of the night. Kershean sipped his juice. Grape, he was pretty sure.

The sky was black and puddles had formed across the aging cobblestone when Kershean finally rose to leave. It was only drizzling now, and Kershean didn't want to inconvenience the tabac employee any longer. She was still hiding behind the counter: had been for hours now. No doubt she was uncomfortable. She hadn't even come out to settle his bill. He left a few Euros on the table, and disappeared as quietly as he had arrived.

He suddenly felt very tired. He approached the Cathedral. Dark and foreboding, but always open. He opened the door and slipped in choosing one of the back pews. It was wooden and uncomfortable to lay on, but at least it was dry and warm. He closed his eyes.

In the morning, in the spirit of turning over a new leaf, he approached the altar, and said a few words of thanks to whoever it was that the humans worshipped. He smiled at the Priest who was straightening up the podium for a later service.

The walk through the village was accomplished quickly, and he was back on the route nationale. He was always amazed at the number of roads in Europe that went unused. Everyone traveled by train nowadays. Not like America, where the number of cars and roads continued to multiply. He thought about moving towards the ancient forest to travel in anonymity, but changed his mind. He wasn't interested in hiding anymore.

He was walking towards the rising sun now, the road to Paris gracefully meandering through the countryside. He heard the rumble of tires in the distance, approaching and getting closer. He moved into the grass, green just starting to peek through its brown leavings of the previous season. He heard the honk from the car, a short high pitched sound of annoyance, and he moved further from the non-existent shoulder of the road. The car was slowing now, and he braced himself, prepared to do battle. For whatever reason this motorist was angry at him.

Instead what he heard surprised him, "Hello there! Do you need a ride?" The words were succinct yet friendly. He turned to face the car.

A small balding man with round thick glasses was leaning over the passenger seat and watching him through the now open car window. The old Kershean would have waved him along. The old Kershean would have perhaps had something pithy to say to him.

The new Kershean weighed his options. The man looked innocuous enough. He was nearly half Kershean's size. There would be no reason to fear him. Probably he wouldn't be able to drive Kershean all the way to Paris, they were still about 500 kilometers away. But he was offering to take him at least part of the way. Kershean remembered his pledge. Practice. The small man in the car was still smiling genially at him. Kershean smiled back at him. But no teeth: that had been a disaster of epic proportions.

"Thanks, that would be lovely." He opened the car door and climbed inside.

"So where are you headed?" Kershean's head jerked at the probing question, but the man's face was all ease and friendliness. He would only want to know where he would be dropping the boy off, Kershean reminded himself.

"Paris."

"That's a long way," the man's voice was quiet and awed. "I'm headed for Dijon myself."

Kershean nodded his acceptance. He and the strange little man would part ways in Dijon.

"So you aren't from around here? I've never seen you before."

Kershean instantly stiffened, before trying to relax."No, I'm from…" he faltered for a minute, "Grenoble." It was far enough away from wherever the little man was from, and close enough to where Kershean was actually from. It would have to do.

"That's a long way. Never been there myself. I'm from Viriat myself." It was spoken with s certain amount of pride.

Kershean had never heard of it. Probably it was one of the thousands of small towns that dotted the French landscape. But he smiled anyway, eager to not offend.

"So Paris eh? You got family there? Or a job?"

"A job." Kershean answered quickly. He tried to think of a question for the man. So far he had barely contributed to the conversation. "Do you work in Dijon?"

The little man smiled, "Not really, I'm making a delivery." He pointed to the back seat of his small Renault. Pamphlets sat in neat rubber-banded piles. "I'm a missionary of sorts today I suppose." Kershean finally noticed his attire. Black smock shirt, with a white starched collar, the uniform of a Catholic Priest, like the one he had seen the previous evening.

"You are a Priest?" He blurted out, then instantly cringed.

But the little man only laughed, "You can call me Father Collins."

He looked at Kershean expectantly. Kershean took the hint, "I'm Kershean."

"Kershean? That is an odd kind of a name."

No one had ever said that to Kershean before. He was temporarily befuddled.

"Are your parents some kind of gypsies, or something?"

Kershean nodded. The man frowned for a moment, "And have you found God?" His good mood seemed to have been dampened. In that moment Kershean feared him.

So he lied, "Yes, we worship. I myself visited with my Priest only yesterday evening." Did a smile count as interaction?

"Good. It is important for even the heathen to find God." Was that a subtle insult? Perhaps this little man wasn't as cheerful as Kershean had originally suspected. Perhaps he was just crazy!


	8. Chapter 8

**Hope some of you out there in fanfic land are still with me!**

**Previously on Samara...**

_I held back the shiver that was desperate to run down my spine. Who was this, and what had he done with Daemon? This Daemon didn't move, just stood menacingly above me, I realized his question hadn't been rhetorical. He was waiting for me to promise to be more agreeable._

_One word, that was all it would take, but I could barely get it past my tongue. "Okay," I finally choked out._

_His fingers ran from my ear to my chin and his look was positively condescending, "Good girl. Now I have to get back to work."_

_ I remembered who I had been a paltry seven days ago. What was happening to me? _

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Chapter 8

I had been a different person. Where was the girl who faced DeWittier and won? Who didn't back down from Kershean's hurtful words. And things were only getting worse. The weathered had finally tempered, mocking me in its sereneness as the world around me crashed into disarray.

Shuffling footsteps, my fur door nearly ripped away, Daemon arrived at my cave stumbling and… was he drunk? I had seen the condition before, among the nuns, one in particular who frequently sampled the cooking wine. I had sympathized with her once I had grown and realized how similar and depressing our situations had turned out to be. If only I had thought of it first. Dealing with an inebriated Daemon annihilated any of those types of thoughts for good.

His touch was coarse, "Hey baby," he purred.

He kissed me hard, his lips like steel, and he forced my own open, delving into my mouth with his tongue. Even though he was my boyfriend and was entitled to such liberties, I felt violated. His kisses had never been so imposing.

His hands were clumsy, yet everywhere as he tugged at my clothes and simultaneous rubbed my forearms with the rough pads of his fingers trying to relieve my unease. And still I was frozen despite his efforts, completely unprepared for what he was asking. When he moved his hands to touched the bare flesh of my stomach, I jerked awake. Gently I guided them back to my waist. He held them there for a time, while his tongue continued to plunge inside my mouth. He groaned. In pleasure I suppose. I remained mute, my mind blank as pure unadulterated terror swirled in its depths impeding all the other proceeds. Unbidden, my mother's last words to me returned, "_Follow your heart."_ I had. Hadn't I? I'd chosen Daemon, and spurned Kershean. What did she know that I didn't? I instinctually knew she would not have remained mute in such a situation. She would have fought back. And I was my mother's daughter. I could feel her strength surround me.

His hands moved under my shirt again only moments after I removed them unwilling to heed my reticence, and I finally found my voice, "Daemon, stop."

He pulled away, and I was sure he'd heard me. His nose ran up my cheek to my ear, "But baby," he inhaled, "You smell so good, I can't resist." Okay, definitely drunk.

"Daemon, let's not do this now."

He didn't hear me, obviously, for he started nibbling on my ear. I almost lost my resolve, as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. Why was I trying to stop him again? His sharp canines bit just a little too hard, and he giggled.

I pushed him away, "Daemon, not tonight."

He pulled away fully, and looked at me, smirking, "Playing hard to get? I like it." He turned on his heel and walked out, my fur door rocking, the only thing that reminded me that the last several minutes had been real and not some terrible nightmare. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. He would be back to himself in the morning, surely.

And he was. First thing, the sun barely up, he came to see me, contrite and humble, "I'm so sorry, love. I just couldn't seem to control myself." His eyes were shadowed, and he was wincing in pain. Poor boy was hung over and completely humiliated. He could hardly look at me, his face flushed with embarrassment.

I smiled at him, "It's all forgot." He looked deep into my eyes finally, the black of his own piercing the depths, and finally he smiled.

Hugging me tightly, my chin resting on his shoulder I had to ask, "Why were you drinking anyway?"

"I've been granted a seat on the counsel, finally. They want to see what I'm capable of. They want to test me before I take over at the head. And we had a few drinks in celebration."

It had been more than a few but I held my tongue. "That's wonderful!"

"Yeah," he ran his fingers through his hair, "And giving me the seat, means that they accept that I am a better choice for leadership than Kershean. Especially with him taking off like that. There will be just as many meetings, though I won't be having to be so servile and begging anymore. I'll be an equal."

I hadn't realized until now exactly what he had been doing all this time. It wasn't in his nature to be so self-effacing. It must have been really hard on him. No wonder he had been so temperamental lately. Everything would be better now.

Except for one thing, "But if you have to attend all these meetings…"

"We'll still see each other as often as we are now." He smiled at me, and I tried to convince myself that it wasn't as condescending as it looked. Besides my mind was on other things, he wasn't getting what I was driving at.

"No, I mean, what about Morocco?" My voice was almost a whisper by the time I had finished as his face had darkened considerably with each syllable.

"Samara!? I thought I'd made it clear. Morocco is not going to happen!" He huffed and then stormed out.

That was the last straw. I stormed after him. He was walking fast and I was half running to keep up with his much longer legs. As soon as I was close enough to him, I lunged at him grabbing his arm. He swirled around, facing me, eyes ablaze, nostrils flaring. I had expected the anger, and I wasn't about to back down. We were on the perimeter of the camp. I pulled him behind the last of the ice caves.

"Daemon you promised me that if we came back to the camp then we would go to Morocco. I did my part. I followed you back here. Now, what about your part of the deal?"

He was quiet for a long time. I expected him to yell. He didn't. I watched him carefully, trying to maintain my cool. He appeared to be watching me just as carefully. Then he rolled his eyes, muttered a derogatory phrase in French under his breath and walked away. I was stunned, first by where he had learned such a thing, and secondly that he would say it to me of all people. I let him go.

***

It is amazing when you lay in bed at night-willing yourself into that sweet oblivion where life never seems so complicated-and you listen to the wind blowing, and you can feel your body relaxing but sleep doesn't comes. I had tracked how long I had lain still waiting for my mind to finally quiet. I had been counting sheep. I had just passed my 3654 little poof ball. And still my mind refused to quiet. How could he have said such a thing to me?

3655.

Did he know what it meant? I remembered his eyes-they had focused, narrowed on me for a millisecond, before he had uttered the fateful words.

3656.

Yes he knew what it meant. What made it even worse was that I knew he wasn't calling me that. He must know that I would never, could never be one of those types of girls.

3657.

He had deliberately insulted me knowing how revolting it would sound to me. That made it hurt all the more.

3658.

3659.

3660.

Why would he want to hurt me? Especially when I had been the justified party. I had a right to know why he was no longer willing to travel with me. _He_ was in the wrong.

3661.

3662.

Wasn't he?

The fur of my door opened. I squeezed my eyes tighter together and tried to even out my breathing. Whoever it was, I don't think I was fooling them because they didn't leave. They were breathing heavily themselves, like they had recently run some type of marathon.

"Samara?" His voice was like a song, and a little blurry. Daemon was drunk again. My body stiffened, though I held out hope that somehow he would still be fooled. The last twenty four hours had drained me. I didn't know where I stood anymore with the person who mattered most to me. Kershean's words came back mockingly, _You don't know him like I do._ I hadn't hardly thought of it, even when he said it. Now I pondered it because for the first time I realized that perhaps he had been right. I definitely didn't know Daemon the way I thought I did.

Suddenly, a very warm body had found its way into my pile of furs and was flush with my own. "Samara." His hot breath was in my ear and fanning over my face. I could smell the alcohol, much stronger than it had been the previous evening, I held myself very still. "I know how to wake you up," His hands were just as insistent as they had been the previous evening and he quickly wormed his way under my sheath.

My body stiffened involuntarily as Daemon's cold hands splayed out over my warm flesh, "I knew you were faking it," his voice was smug "Come on baby, I know you want this too. I can tell."

I pushed his hands away, as his mouth pounced on mine. I squeezed my lips shut, into one firm straight line of protest. He giggled again, and my stomach rolled. "Playing hard to get only works for so long Samara. You wouldn't want me to lose interest. It would make things difficult for you with the rest of the tribe."

I had never thought about what could happen to me if I fell out of favor. My mouth fell open as I considered his words. Daemon took that as an invitation, his tongue crammed into my mouth, bruising the inside of my cheeks. I thought about struggling, briefly. But a drunk Daemon was even more unpredictable than a sober one. And I knew he wasn't one that issued idle threats.

His hands were moving higher and I moved my own quickly into his path and crossed my arms over my chest in a protective gesture. His hands stopped at my barrier and rested on either side of my ribs as if he had all the time in the world to wait for me to give in. And as his tongue continued moving, I was hit with an epiphany. He was much stronger than I was. So instead of continuing to fight, I forced my body to go limp, every muscle relaxed save the ones over my chest. My mouth fell open completely and my head lulled back. I didn't move, and I didn't struggle. My tongue flopped inside my mouth like a dead fish as his own tangled with it. A long second passed. Then another. Perhaps I had been lying there prone and motionless for hours.

Daemon's movements slowed, and then ceased completely. His breath was ragged and deep, and I worried about what he was about to do. He was on the verge of speaking; chastising, degrading, belittling. I would not come through it unscathed. I waited, trying to plan my defense. His breathing slowed into a steady rhythm. And a soft snore rumbled against the skin of my cheek. Daemon had fallen asleep, and I was in an even bigger quandary than before.


	9. Chapter 9

**I am going on a cruise vacation in 21 days exactly, and I would love the whole story posted before then as I will be gone for awhile. I hope I can do it…**

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Chapter 9

Kershean waved a grateful goodbye to Father Collins who had kindly deposited him outside the train station in Dijon, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the man drove away. He had gone from animated to terse, several times throughout the drive.

Definitely crazy.

_Kershean had found himself gripping the handle of his door, wondering how much damage his body would take if he just leaped from the moving vehicle now, instead of enduring one more minute of Father Collins diatribe. Surely the landing wouldn't kill him. Maybe he would lose a limb, but like a lizard they always grew back. It would be painful, true, but it couldn't be any worse than this. _

"_Those Capitalist dogs from across the pond! Forgetting how to properly worship the Great Almighty." Collins shouted while driving and simultaneously thumping the steering wheel. The car swerved dangerously. _

_Father Collins' eyes burned with indignation: How could this young gypsy boy ever hope to be truly good if he wasn't willing to spend several hours studying the words of those morally superior to him? "You think speaking with your priest is enough? NOT enough young man! You must spend more of your time in relevant useful study. Take a pamphlet." _

_So Kershean took a pamphlet. Its author none other than Father Collins who looked very dour in his picture printed on the front. He perused it for a moment, idly counting the number of times the phrase 'capitalist dogs' appeared, in description of those not only in America, but England, most of the government officials of France, and Saudi Arabia? Kershean wasn't overly versed in foreign affairs but he was pretty sure that particular phrase did not apply to that particular government. _

Kershean found an obliging rubbish bin and tossed the pamphlet in. What a waste of perfectly good paper.

…"_Women are not to be speaking creatures. Better to fulfill their duties quietly and humbly." For the first time in his entire life Kershean actively wanted to disagree with him, remembering the strength of Samara's personality and how he longed for her. She would know exactly what to say. She always knew exactly what to say it seemed, in every situation. Perhaps she would be proud of him if he chose to disagree with the crazed priest. _

"_If only they would learn their place! Am I right young man?" Thankfully 'Father Collins' hadn't waited for a response-Kershean was still trying to decide what to say-he had launched once again into a spiel about the proper forms of worship and demanded that Kershean take several more pamphlets._

After spending an hour on the receiving end of his stream of affected conversation, Kershean was sure of one thing. 'Father Collins' could not possibly be a priest. He had planned on walking the rest of the way to Paris-once he had reached Dijon-saving his precious Euros in case of emergency, but he was sure he could not handle anymore interactions with humans of Collins' ilk. In a moment of clarity he had directed the faux priest to the railway station.

He deposited the rest of the pamphlets in the rubbish bin as well and then headed for the ticket counter morosely. The train station was in a rectangular building, clear and utilitarian. Cavernous inside except for the small office situated on the left, labeled as the ticket counter. At this time of day it was mostly deserted save for a single worker. Would she shun him as well? He hadn't had a very good track record thus far. Except Ricky.

Hoping for another exception, he approached carefully, not smiling, not frowning, but somewhere in between, "Aidez-moi, s'il vous plait?" He asked her once he was close enough to be heard. _Can you help me, please? _"I would like a one way rail ticket to Paris."

"Would you like to buy a pass, it wouldn't be that much more expensive," she told him, and then quoted a price.

He didn't have enough Euros, "Can I just get a single ticket?"

Nodding once, she began typing on her keyboard. She was prompt and professional, and it wasn't long before Kershean had his ticket in hand ready to make his way towards the second class compartment of his soon-to-be departing train.

She hadn't wanted to put him on that particular train, "You won't make it," but for once, his obstinate nature worked towards his advantage.

"I'm a fast runner." His tone was flat, sure.

She didn't question him, she turned back to her screen, made the necessary adjustments and handed the ticket over. "It's at the other side of the station. You have just under ten minutes to catch it before it departs. Bon chance!" It was said doubtfully, and he could tell that she fully expected to see him after several moments, trying to exchange his ticket for another.

He could have been rude. He could have just ignored her. Instead, he smiled, thanked her as calmly as he could, then dashed out the glass doors of the office as fast as his feet could take him. And he made it to his train with 4 minutes to spare. The conductor waved him forward after a cursory view of his ticket, and he boarded. Midday, most of the other travelers were tourists, chatting away to each other in their own native languages. He caught a few phrases he recognized in Spanish and English, some of them talked about the things they had seen in Dijon, and a few were planning where they would go first once they'd made it to Paris.

A group of girls were dressed in school uniforms and talking quietly in French. They were probably not much younger than he was. One looked up as he passed and her eyes zeroed in on him. She not so subtly elbowed her companions and they hushed immediately watching him as he passed, their eyes wide, their mouths slightly open. It always made him uncomfortable when human girls stared at him like that. With that hungry look in their eyes, like they would descend upon him at any moment like the rabid dogs that they were. The old Kershean had always thought that. With his new attitude, this Kershean was determined to be better.

He smiled, or at least he tried to, and the girls giggled when he had passed. Perhaps that hadn't gone as badly as he had suspected. He looked back, and the girls were watching him, their cheeks red, betraying their embarrassment at getting caught staring still.

He had a dilemma before him. Two seats sat innocently at the very back of the train. One faced the direction of the giggling teenagers. The other was beside a rather burly gentlemen snacking on a round bread loaf, crumbs flying from his generously-sized mouth. A hefty pile of crumbs had already accumulated on the seat beside him as well. Kershean chose to face the giggling teenagers, rather than offend the burly gentlemen by brushing the crumbs from his adjoining chair.

Thankfully, only one of the girls faced him due to the arrangement of the seats and she seemed the shyest of the group, barely looking at him from under the fringe of her eyelashes as her companions, giggled and occasionally glanced at him over their shoulders. He smiled at her, trying to set her at ease. All color drained from her face, and her head shot down, hidden behind a curtain of hair, never to be seen again. Oops.

He turned to the burly gentleman sitting in front of him. The man nodded at Kershean and then tore a large portion of bread from off the bigger loaf with his sausage-sized fingers. Kershean gulped involuntarily. The man was watching him closely, and must have misunderstood. The sausages flicked across the aisle, and offered Kershean the chunk of bread. Kershean took the offered piece and chewed on it so as not to be rude.

It was good. "Merci," he offered. The man only smiled then went back to eating, completely ignoring Kershean.

Kershean watched as the train passed through the countryside. He had always enjoyed speed. It reminded him of the motorcycle and then of Samara and why he was making this trip. Somehow DeWittier had been able to find his way through the labyrinth of mountains, high up in the French Alps and stumbled right onto the Exium Solus camp. It was impossible for him to do it alone. Kershean wondered what he would find out once he made it to Paris. When he found DeWittier's headquarters how would he weedle any information out of DeWittier's probably loyal staff? Simply asking for answers would not work. He would need all of the charisma he could muster. He was tired, and decidedly out of his element. It was depressing. He took a nap.

***

It was still early in the afternoon, when Kershean woke from his slumber, stretched his legs and realized the train had stopped. He was in Paris. The terminal was bright and full of bustling people, many of them tourists, trying to get to their connecting trains. Kershean moved towards the wall trying to avoid their fast footsteps.

Luckily for Kershean, perhaps the first bit of luck for him in a very long time, there was a TI stand directly outside of the train terminal. A young woman sat behind the counter, not much older than Kershean, and her eyes widened as he approached. Time to practice the charm.

"Pardonez-moi mademoiselle." _Excuse me, miss,_ "I am looking for the DeWittier Enterprises building. Would you by chance know where it is?" He kept his smile small and hesitant, and looked at her with pleading in his dark eyes.

"I uh…sure. I'm not exactly supposed to help…well never mind…." The poor girl stuttered.

Things were looking up, "I'd be ever so grateful, he whispered as he ducked his head closer to hers, "I promise I won't tell a soul that you helped me." And he smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner.

It worked, she navigated through her maps for a moment, "Rue Madeline, au coin de Rue Stoppard." _Madeline Street at the corner of Stoppard Street._ "It's in the business district. You can catch the subway about a hundred metres," and she pointed behind him, "that way."

He briefly thought of taking her hand in thanks but decided against it. They didn't know each other and such a bold gesture was sure to offend her, so instead he said a simple 'Merci,' smiled, and turned to go.

He did not take the subway. He hadn't any money left, and the free map he had taken from the TI counter showed that the financial district was at most 15 kilometers away. He could walk there in an hour easily. His body was rested from the trip on the train, and his brain was sharpened by his short nap. A quick walk would get his muscles taunt and ready in case he encountered trouble, and would allow for the time to form a plan now that his brain was sharp and he was still feeling confident.

The building was as he had expected, quite tall and clearly ostentatious compared to its more conservative neighbors. Security was low, and Kershean was able to walk right up to the front desk without any trouble. The way behind the desk was walled and closed off, and he knew he would need the permission of the woman sitting at the desk if he was to ever get through. And she looked formidable. Middle aged, with sharp blue eyes, and a crease between her eyebrows from endless hours of frowning. Her girth swelled beyond her chair, her hands were folded primly in her lap. His original plan was discarded, and he quickly fumbled for a new idea.

"Name?" She queried in a bored voice.

"Kershean." He answered automatically without first asking why she wanted to know. He cringed at his stupidity.

She picked up a clipboard in front of her and perused the papers clipped to it, "Monsieur Kershean. You aren't on the list. Which job are you applying for?"

She thought he was here for a job interview. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage, "My father is an old friend of Monsieur DeWittier. He told me to come see him about a place in the mailroom, if I ever found myself in Paris and in need of a job."

"Monsieur DeWittier is no longer with us."

Kershean tried to put the right amount of grief and shock into the look he gave her, "But I really need this job. Isn't there someone else I could talk to?" All he needed was a way beyond the double doors behind the receptionist.

"I suppose Monsieur Jacques might have time for you. One moment please."

She affixed a small headset onto her large coif and Kershean listened carefully to the one-sided conversation. Thankfully, the person on the other side of the line wasn't as nearly as discerning as the receptionist seemed to be, and soon enough, Kershean was waved through the double doors and told to find Monsieur Jacques on the fifth floor.

The building was tall, twenty stories at least, and Kershean bypassed the fifth floor instead heading right to the top. The most important people in the company would be at the top, and would also have the most information about DeWittier.

When the elevator doors opened he was greeted by something he had not expected; dark paneled walls hastily erected, barely standing upright to make up several smaller offices. People were everywhere, clearly employees, still trying to recover from DeWittier's sudden death. A pair of steel doors sat at the end of the large room, probably the entrance to the CEO's old office. All of the employees skirted around it hesitantly. That was where DeWittier would have been had he still been alive.

No one had noticed the elevator doors open, and Kershean took his chance and slipped onto the floor. Quickly, he found an unused alcove and hid himself behind a set of dirty looking cabinets. He hadn't thought much beyond getting into the building, but due to the state of his corner-his sinuses was tickling from the dust particles in the air- he expected that he could remain here for as long a time as was necessary before anyone discovered him. Not even the cleaning staff had visited this alcove in ages. Perhaps they hadn't been here since before DeWittier had disappeared.

There was a room slightly adjacent and offset from his location. It was dark, though the door remained open. He wondered what it was. Within minutes he got his answer. Two impeccably dressed men entered, and one flicked the light switch, illuminating a tiny room with one small rickety table and several mismatched chairs. There was also a small out of place refrigerator plugged into a wall outlet.

The men opened the fridge separately, pulled out their lunches and then sat across from each other at the table, all the while chatting in low voices. Kershean's sharp ears heard every word.

The first man to speak was eating something that smelled strongly of cooked eggs, "The company is in dire straits, but perhaps it would have been worse had DeWittier lived longer. I always maintained that he was crazy."

"Is it true that he had been dipping into the revenue?" The other man asked. Kershean sniffed again, but his nose was overpowered by the egg, and the second man's lunch wasn't pungent enough. Something bland definitely, mostly composed of grains, not a lot of added spices.

"Yes and since he is no longer the CEO and the head accountant as well, the board is now livid that he held back the financial records all these months."

"Where was the money going?"

"One of DeWittier's pet projects. You know how many of those he had."

"What was the latest one?" The second man's voice was as bland as his food, but still interested .

"Something about immortality."

They were talking about the Exium Solus!

"Obviously he never figured it out." The two men sniggered together mockingly. "Where did he come up with such a crazy idea?"

"His driver says he had some type of inside information. Whatever that means."

Inside information? If only the two men knew more. Nothing else of interest was said, they had changed topics now, speaking of inconsequential things. They finished their lunches between sentences and then left the break room.

Kershean waited as the sky outside darkened. He watched as most of the employees gathered their belongings and left by the elevator. Still the lights remained on across the top floor, and Kershean suspected that there were still employees about. He snuck out of his alcove.

A conference table sat in the middle of a larger space not far from the break room. A few people where around it, shifting manila folders between them. "Do we have a final amount?" Kershean ducked into a darkened cubical just as the eyes of the speaker rose towards his position.

He heard papers being shuffled, "40,000 Euros were siphoned from several accounts over a 2 month period."

"Do we have a name?" The first voice was annoyed.

"No."

"Location?"

"Yes, they were transferred to Seville, Spain." The answering voice was triumphant, finally, she would no longer be disappointing her superiors.

Kershean started at that and put the pieces together. Insider Information? And Seville Spain? He knew of only one person who fit both categories. Thankfully he was a better scout than any of his tribe had ever given him credit for.


	10. The real Chapter 10! Please Read!

**I noticed this morning that my numbering was off.**

**I skipped a Chapter when I posted. So here is the real Chapter 10. I hope it clears up any confusion (though I was surprised that no one noticed!)**

Chapter 10

If you had to choose between love or duty, which would it be? What if the fate of a nation was involved? I had always thought that I had bypassed this particular choice by choosing Daemon. I was half in love with him already I had been sure (my heart beat erratically when he was near, my stomach was always a bucket full of nerves when we kissed), and clearly he would be the best leader for our people. Everything I had known of him spoke of his generosity, caring, and charisma. He was dedicated too. Not once since I had known him had he run off when things got tough. Not like Kershean who always seemed to be leaving.

Morning always brings clarity, and for me the morning after Daemon had passed out in my bed, was no exception. I was wrong. About everything.

I was blessed to find him gone once I had awakened, after lying for hours uncomfortably under him I had fallen into a semi-conscious state, still very aware of the lump on top of me and hadn't fully revived until late the next morning.

Fortunately I didn't see much of Daemon during the next few days. He was busy accepting congratulations from every member of the tribe it seemed. Every time I saw him, usually from a distance, as I was loath to approach him, he was surrounded by devoted and admiring fans. Even my father. I had seen the two of them together, my father had slapped Daemon on the back good naturally, and accepted his handshake in return.

Suddenly, they looked up together and right at me. One smirked, the other smiled knowingly,

and life became much, much worse. My father had made his choice.

Could I have been wrong? Now that everyone in the tribe had accepted him I was the only one left doubting him. I was alone in my censure it seemed. Didn't they know how manipulative he could be? Didn't they know what he expected of me? My father couldn't be aware of this. But that smirk. For the first time I doubted, perhaps he knew, and he didn't really care.

Had they all gone mad? What exactly had changed their minds? I knew so precious little about what went on in those meetings. I knew one thing though. They just didn't talk about gathering food. A long, long time ago, Man had nearly exterminated the Neanderthal. And they wanted their revenge. Badly. Had that been what Daemon promised them? It was the only thing that made sense; there was nothing else they could want. Not money-for surely they had plenty-, not food, shelter or clothing. They had all they could ever need or want. Save one thing.

And of course Daemon would be willing to do anything to gain his seat on the counsel, to exercise his superiority over Kershean. Daemon had said he'd been "servile." Surely it went deeper than just offering to wipe their feet or get them a drink.

I definitely knew the rivalry was far more complex than either boy was willing to talk about. Occasionally in Daemon's unguarded moments I could hear the hatred in his voice as he talked of his brother, when he would break his own rule of silence involving conversations about Kershean.

_"He always had to be better than me. Better than everyone really. He knew I always wanted to be a scout, but because he's older, the position went to him. I tried to prove myself and for a time I had succeeded, but of course he wouldn't allow it, and had me ousted from the program. Some brother."_

_Daemon's face had suddenly gone contrite, "I shouldn't speak of him like that though. He is still my brother."_

_"But that's terrible! How can you forgive him for something like that!" _

_"Like I said," and here he would shrug, "he's my brother, even if he is a sack of camel dung, he deserves my loyalty." He had said it with a certain irony in his voice that I hadn't understood. _

My mind was a turmoil as I mulled over what I thought I knew about Daemon, and then who he had changed into these past couple of days. Had I only liked him because I thought he was an outsider like me? It had been so attractive to float on the outskirts of the tribe, and to have someone there with me who appeared to have the same sarcastic wit. Someone to laugh with while we poked fun of all the archaic practices. Was that all it was? Was he only desirable because he was a rebel? A whispered yes, and a weight was lifted off my shoulders. All the things that I liked about him were part of the act. His secret smiles, his bouts of kind behavior. Perhaps he wasn't as attractive as I once thought.

And just as fast as the first weight had disappeared, a second took its place. And now I was saddled to him for eternity it seemed, and unable to do anything about it. And what was worse, I know knew what kind of monster he was. If only I had stayed with Kershean...But no, Kershean wouldn't have been much of a step up. Perhaps, hidden within him were the exact same personality traits as Daemon. They WERE brothers. Perhaps, nothing would have been different. I realized the hopelessness of my situation. No allies existed for me here. Daemon would have complete control over me, perhaps he already did. And I would be helpless, risking expulsion if I didn't submit to his will. Something had to be done.

So I continued to watch him. Through my hours of observation, I learned one thing. Artha and her mate? They never spoke a word to Daemon, never approached him, never made eye contact with him, never even smiled at him when he wasn't looking. A storm was stewing in the darkened sky and readying to hit the high country.

Freedom is so precious, it is something we each take for granted. When to rise in the morning, who to talk to during the day, what to eat, what to wear, the list is endless. For so long I had been alone, not knowing where I came from, who my family was. Now I had found them, but at what cost? Could I become the pliable accepting girl that everyone expected me to be, someone who I had never been before, simply so I could stay? Was it worth what I would be ultimately giving up? Perhaps expulsion wasn't so bad. I was a hardworking, intelligent female. It wasn't like I was without options. But expulsion? No, I wouldn't willingly let anyone throw me out. I would leave on my own terms.

And as I watched Artha openly frown at Daemon from across the tundra, I suddenly knew she would help me. The snow was melting, my footsteps wouldn't be so easily traced if I made my way down the mountain. And once I reached the valley, they would be hard to find, if at all. Kershean had taught me a few things in our time together.

Daemon was out of sight, at one of his many miscellaneous meetings. And Artha was outside of her cave, weaving once again. She looked at me a bit warily, as I sat down beside her. "Hi Artha," I said quietly, "Can I weave with you today?" I tried to keep calm, but I could tell my eyes were wide with terror-that she too would reject me in favor of Daemon-and they were beginning to tear up a bit. How humiliating. Whatever Artha saw, whatever she had heard in my words, must have been enough for her,

"I've missed you these last days Samara. How are you?" Her words were spoken in carefully crafted French. Artha had been practicing.

There was no use beating around the bush so to speak, I had come for her help after all, "I am unhappy Artha. I should have listened to you. Some people are very good at hiding their true characters." I didn't dare speak Daemon's name for fear that somewhere nearby his supporters were watching my every move.

Artha's face was all compassion, not what I would have expected. I was sure she would have issued, the _"I told you so."_ "Some are different inside." I understood her meaning, though her words were a bit jumbled, "But for me who knows them, one is good, one not good."

Daemon, all the appearance of goodness, with an internal heart of blackness. But she wasn't just talking about Daemon. She was talking about Kershean too. Though I wasn't ready to examine _that_ fully. Not yet.

"I learned it too late, Artha." I felt a tear sink down my cheek, burning in the cold of the mountain temperature. I leaned closer to her, "Can you help me?" She looked at me, bemused. "I can't stay here, but I don't have anything for the trip."

She nodded, then focused back on her beads. "My mother taught me how to...make these..."

"Beads" I supplied.

"Yes, beads. They are easy, all you need it time. Perhaps you might make some with me?" She grabbed some more twine, and a handful of beads. In a few minutes, she had weaved an intricately patterned bracelet. And then another, and another. "Here, you do also."

A double knot, under, over, insert a bead, then another, weave around, a series of square knots, tie up, then repeat.

By the time the sun set, I had a pocketful of beautifully weaved bracelets, that Artha promised would bring a good price. They would get me far enough away that I wouldn't be found.

It was all she could do. I gathered that most of the Neanderthal wealth was controlled by the counsel. There was plenty, and they were generous with it but only to a point. And both she and I understood that they would never grant me the money, as the property of the camps newest golden boy.

Artha surprised me, as I prepared to leave before the moon rose and brightened the landscape. She brought with her a heavy fur coat, with sleeves and a high collar. Different from the fur vest I usually wore. Inside she had sewn pockets and they were stuffed full of food, breads and fruits, "From Franken." Franken was her mate. He must have skimmed it off of the top of what he had gathered that day. And into the one empty pocket, just under my left armpit, she slipped the bracelets. The jacket wrapped around me with straps, rather than buttoning. It would definitely keep me warm.

I turned to go, never very good with goodbyes, Artha's hand on my arm stopped me, "You must go for help. Find Kershean. He must come back."

I was about to disagree, but her look stopped anything I was about to say. "I will try."

"Samara, you must!"

And with that, she vanished outside of my cave. I realized that perhaps that was really the only reason why she had helped me. She wanted Kershean to come home.

I waited 120 seconds, before I followed her into the night. I could hear the sounds of merrymaking taking place, the council must be drinking again. Good. It would give me more time. They could hardly find me with their faculties so impeded.

The walk down the mountain didn't take long, an hour perhaps as I was anxious to put as much space between myself and Daemon as possible. What surprised me the most was how readily everyone had accepted him. My father, not even a week before could still be found expounding on Kershean's excellent attributes.

Familial loyalty was certainly not something Daemon had ever subscribed to. I heard him degrade his parents, the Old Woman, and anyone else in authority in his pithiest of moments. There probably wasn't much he wouldn't do to undermine his brother. His hatred ran deep.

I might not like Kershean, but Daemon had gone too far this time. Including promising the counsel their fondest wish, eradicating their worst enemy. Which I was sure had happened. What else could it have been? Was that all it took to convince them of his loyalty?

I thought of all these things as I hurried down into the valley, and surprisingly the journey did not take long, so caught up my thoughts I was. The valley's snow had melted and dried. I would leave no further evidence of my travels. I meandered instead of taking a straight path, doing all I could to confuse any followers. Because they would come for me. I palmed one of Artha's bracelets. She had promised me it and the others would get me a good price. Enough to get a train ticket. The shout of my disappearance wouldn't be heard until morning. If I walked through the night I could make it to Chabery by morning. I had never been there before. When I went looking for my mother, I had gone to Grenoble. Daemon would probably expect me to head back to her. That would give me the time I needed in Chabery to sell the bracelets and get a train

ticket. Then I could disappear. Perhaps into Italy. I didn't speak more than rudimentary Italian, but it was very close to French, perhaps I would be able to understand enough. I would get a job, just as I'd planned, I could explore the area and then move on when I got bored. Perhaps in time I would return to France and go to university.

There was no warning, suddenly my arm was ripped nearly out of its socket, and my body whirled around so I faced an angry seething Daemon.


	11. Chapter 11

**This was posted prematurely as Chapter 10, though it is really Chapter 11. If you are reading this hoping for an update, go back and read the real Chapter 10, no one seemed to notice, but there is some stuff missing and Chapter 10, (which I somehow forgot about posting) should clear it all up. Like for example, how Samara got out of the camp.**

**Back to Kershean…**

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Chapter 11

It was Daemon, it had to be. He had been in Seville at the right time-Kershean always made sure he was the scout chosen to track his little brother-and Daemon had not bothered to hide his presence in the Southern Spaniard town. Kershean had always been wary of his brother. Never quite trusting him. And he had been right. All the hours spent trailing him, keeping an eye on him. Each and every one of them had been worth the effort. 'Egg sandwich' and 'Bland grains' had said DeWittier received some kind of inside information. Daemon was the only "insider," who had been in such a distant place.

When Daemon was 16, he'd given Kershean his first real reason to worry. He hadn't strayed far from the tribe, not like when Kershean had tracked him down in China, or the Everglades of Florida. Kershean watched his brother-barely a man-carefully, coiled, and ready to leap to his aid at any moment.

It is hard to smell fear in humans-not like animals-to see who they find dangerous, but Kershean knew immediately that the group that Daemon was spending his time with was dangerous. Their clothing and the way they groomed themselves spoke of hard lives. Their general attitude was one of treacherous power.

Daemon had seemed unconcerned as he mingled among them. Kershean watched him carefully for signs of stress or fear. Every time his actions were exactly the same. He would talk with some, laugh with others, but never was he afraid. Not of their weapons, or their size. And then suddenly for a few hours, sometimes days, Daemon would completely disappear. Always Kershean would canvass the entire area, searching everywhere with only disappointment for results.

Finally, Kershean would return to the group of men Daemon had been cavorting with, hoping that his brother would make his way back to them. And in time, Daemon would resurface among them again. Hands were shook and things were exchanged, Daemon always receiving some type of currency for whatever he offered.

What he brought varied, sometimes odd items like artwork, or jewelry, but most often, it was powder in small plastic bags. Kershean had later learned that this was some type of narcotique. He could not guess how Daemon had acquired such things. But he could guess why. Daemon wanted money. And over the years he had acquired quite a bit.

Conversely Kershean had never worried about money much. Whatever the counsel could spare for him always had been more than sufficient. Until now. Now it was imperative that Kershean get back as quickly as possible. If Daemon was really trying to usurp his place as heir and leader, they needed to know what Kershean knew, before it was too late to contain him. The truth was Daemon was just as dangerous as his human associates. A predator is always unpredictable. That's what makes them so deadly. One can never really know when and where they will strike at their prey. Daemon was entirely too unpredictable.

To sell out his family to such a man as DeWittier? It should have been unthinkable. Had he no sense of loyalty?

As it stood, Kershean could hardly believe it. Especially because Daemon _knew _how immortality had been granted. Every Exium Solus child upon reaching a certain age was led to the old woman's hut to hear the story of the deal that was struck between her mother and the demon. There was no elixir. There was no fountain. What would DeWiitier have done once he discovered that he couldn't gain immortality, simply by finding the group of immortals? And what if he told others? It was why the Exium Solus stayed hidden. What kind of uproar would they cause if humans knew of them and their true nature?

And Daemon had almost welcomed the disaster. Willingly. All for a bit of money. Once again Kershean was painfully aware that he didn't know his brother at all.

But how to get home quickly? He had no money, and nothing valuable that he could barter with. He supposed he could always borrow a bike or another motorcycle. But what had Samara called it? 'Stealing' was the word she had used, and she had been adamantly against it. Lately his conscience had taken on her voice.

Though if she were along with him, he would gladly risk it just so he could feel her arms around him again. For a moment, he allowed himself the memory of her warm smooth hands surrounding his middle. She had held on so tightly, that he was sure she felt a little something of what he was beginning to feel. He sighed as he came back to reality, he shouldn't have been thinking about one of his happier delusions, it made him recollect how depressing his circumstances really were.

He reminded himself of his first order of business. Stop Daemon. At least in that he might achieve success. Then he could worry about everything else that had gone wrong in his life. "_You are the last man I would ever choose." _And while Samara could never love him, maybe, just maybe she would see he could be a better man than she had ever suspected.

He looked at the darkened buildings that surrounded him. It had taken him more time than he had expected to get outside of the city. He quickly discovered that the majority of the Parisians out in the city streets were celebrating some type of holiday. They cheered and danced-black, brown, and white, all together-enjoying the moment. Kershean had never been surrounded by so many people. It slowed his progress as he tried to maneuver through the crowds. And occasionally he would stop to watch one of the more exuberant displays, a feeling very much like happiness seeping into his chest.

The moon had long ago risen and still he was surrounded by residential area. And still he walked. He walked for 2 days until he encountered a forêt, and he gratefully sunk to the ground, beneath a tree. Too tired even to gather anything together to make a bed. The stress was weighing on him. He wasn't moving quickly enough, and he didn't have any solutions for his problem. After his encounter with Collins, he wasn't willing to accept anymore rides from humans. He awoke at daybreak. He had slept the whole night away. And still his journey had hardly begun.

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I had barely registered the look of pure outrage upon Daemon's face, before I felt the sting of his hand across my cheek. "I thought I made myself clear, Samara!" He looked me over with disgust. The force of his slap had split the inside casing of my mouth where it reverberated against my teeth. I could taste blood on my tongue. I cowered before him.

"That isn't your coat." He tugged at the sleeve, "I've seen this before." One of the rolls Artha had stashed for me fell out onto the ground. Daemon bent down and picked it up. "Now I remember." His voice was cold as ice. "This is Artha's coat. And I can only assume that _this_," he waved the roll in front of my eyes, "is Artha's food."

I had never considered what would happen to Artha for helping me if I got caught. "Please... please don't hurt her."

"I will leave it up to her mate." His lip curled up. "I'm sure he will have some choice _words_ for her."

I hoped not. I hoped that Franken would not give into the pressure and punish Artha. He had been part of the scheme. Obviously he was supportive of my decision. Certainly Artha would be safe?

I didn't have time to dwell on it further, Daemon began tugging me along behind him, back in the direction I had come. I was nearly running to keep up with him. His hand was tight on my arm, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my wrist as he pulled me along. I doubted if he would stop walking if I slowed down, or took a tumble. He would probably just keep walking, dragging my inert form behind him.

"I can't leave you alone for a second! I'm going to have someone always watching you aren't I?"

I remained silent. I expected the question was rhetorical.

"I can't believe Artha helped you. What else did she give you? Money?!" He stopped suddenly, flinging my arm to the ground as if burned. A second later he was on top of me, feeling for bulges in the coat, and emptying every pocket he came across. He pulled out fruit, bread, and a block of cheese. He dropped them disdainfully to the ground.

But he didn't find the pocket in my armpit holding the bracelets. He jerked me to my feet again, "That's it? Just food? Women! How exactly was she expecting you to make it anywhere without any money?"

I had to keep the bracelets safe for when I needed them. I couldn't look at him, knowing that my eyes would betray me. This would not be my last escape attempt.

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It was snowing. In April. And it wasn't stopping. The clouds were thick and grey in the sky, and the temperature had dropped far below 0 degrees Celsius. Accumulation had been slow, the ground had warmed during the more temperate days of spring. But it wouldn't take long, and as he moved further south closer to the Alps, the land would begin the steady upward climb into the mountains. And there the ground would not be as warm as it was in the valleys, and the snow knolls would have already built up to a significant level.

The flakes became bigger as the day progressed and they fell in thick masses. Kershean could barely see by evening. He could go no further. A group of trees with a combined canopy would have to suffice as shelter. He searched the ground beneath the trees. All the wood was wet from the damp air. He leaned his back against a tree and pulled some dried meat from his satchel. It was all that was left since it was something that he usually didn't usually enjoy. Days ago he had eaten the last of his bread, which had at least made the chewy mutton palatable.

He thought of the food back home. Those spiced potatoes, very much a favorite. And when the chicken was turned over a fire pit slowly and blackened on the outside, while still tender on the inside; his mouth watered even as he chewed his jerky. It could never be an ample substitute.

He had never planned on being gone this long when he had gathered his supplies for the trip. He only needed the time to wallow in his self-pity a little. Then he would head back, after he had been sufficiently cured of his anger. He would make certain to avoid Samara for the rest of his days, and try to keep himself from leaping off any tall cliffs he encountered.

Surrounding him, the snow continued to fly. It was everywhere even hiding the silhouettes of the gentle sycamores. He could go no further today. Every moment he couldn't move was agony as he wondered what was happening at home.

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There was man outside my cave. A large Neanderthal, with large rippling muscles, and sharp sneering teeth.

Scary.

Daemon had thrown me in, not even bothering to open my fur door first. "Sleep," he commanded, his voice already moving away, as my fur continued to wave.

I tried to stay awake, trying to remain defiant, but I could feel my eyelids getting heavy, and my body was very warm under the covers. I lacked the energy to move, even though my arm had fallen asleep. I would move it in a moment.

And I dreamed.

_A man, appearing in shadow, but just as powerful as if he was corporeal. Facing him was Daemon, smiling, his teeth gleaming in what little light there was, "You won't be sorry, I promise you. You'll have everything you ever wanted."_

_And then a voice I would never forget, seared with stubbornness into my very inner makeup, the voice of my own personal villain, Charles DeWittier, "I have already given you the money, so it had better work."_

"_You know the girl is exactly where I said she was. I know you've checked."_

"_I would be a fool not to," DeWittier inferred._

_Daemon continued as if he hadn't heard, "If you do exactly what I say, the Eternal Ones will come for her and offer their protection. They will lead her to their camp and you as well-if you are careful. There, you will find the prize you seek."_

_The two men appeared to be growing directly out of the blackness. They were standing amongst it, unconcerned that at any moment it could turn on them and swallow them up._

"_Why can't you lead me?" _

"_Do you realize what would happen to me if I led you to them? They ARE dangerous." He shuddered then turned to leave, allowing the vapors to begin consuming him. Suddenly he turned back, "If you run into trouble I will find you in the mountains on the outskirts of Lyon."_

"_I'm sure I can handle following a few children."_

_Like a camera's lens, my watchful eyes zoomed in on Daemon's face. There was something in his face, something I had seen and recognized before but couldn't quite place now. "I'm sure you can. They are nothing to concern yourself with."_

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**Just because I don't ask for reviews doesn't mean I don't enjoy getting them. :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Man if I could hit a hundred reviews for this story that would be awesome! There should be about 18 chapters, so we're almost done with part two of three at least :-)-I--K**

**This is what I meant to post today…**

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**Chapter 12**

I woke up startled, especially because the star of my nightmare was before me.

"Sleep well?" He asked; his voice sardonic.

I wasn't about to tell him about my vision. If I could even call it a vision. Daemon had led DeWittier to me? Turned a blind eye as the man nearly killed me? Not even Daemon could be so cruel. I was pretty sure anyway. And what would it accomplish by flinging such a thing in his face-nothing good-so I settled for the generic, "I slept fine."

He didn't question it, "We need to talk."

Uh oh!

"You are not to have contact with Artha or Franken anymore. If it was up to me, I would have them ousted. As it is they are _important_." The last was spoken with a certain amount of distain, apparently things hadn't gone exactly as he had planned. I was elated that they had stuck up for me, or at least not suffered the harshest of punishments, but disappointed because I knew that their interview with Daemon had probably been terrifying. Especially for sweet tempered Artha.

At least he couldn't harm them. But to lose my only comrades! "But they are my friends."

He stood over me suddenly menacingly, "Do not test me Samara: Or was a slap not enough? Should I resort to my fists?"

"You wouldn't dare." I glared at him.

He just smirked at me, "You are lucky I am in a good mood today. Do not talk to, approach, or even smile at Artha. She and Franken have been instructed to do the same. You are mine now. My property even. Whatever I say with regards to you, must be obeyed. Don't assume that any the others will defy this. There would be trouble for them if they did."

"Why are you being like this?" I was pretty sure he had been using me, gaining my affections for some ploy of his all along. But I wanted to hear him say it.

"Don't you know?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Why does all of this matter to you? I thought you liked the traveling, not being tied down."

"Being the outcast you mean. Can't you see? All my life, I've been the second son. Second best. I've always had to make way for him, even when he wasn't as good as I was. I want what is mine."

"What do I have to do with all of this?"

"You are the addendum, the accolade so to speak. But leadership is only available to those who have the prize."

I hadn't been aware of that, it made me more confused than ever, "But aren't I only a woman? Property?" My voice stumbled over the word.

"Well yes of course," he said like it was the most natural thing in the world, defying everything he had ever told me "But primarily you are meant to be the mother to a strong child-fathered by the chief-the strongest of us all."

"I don't think you really have any affection for me." I tried to keep the phrase bland but by the look on his face I know it came out with more feeling than I'd meant it to.

"Not really no, but I knew I could only get the seat on the council if I secured your affections. I thank you for not being overly subtle with your preferences."

I was beginning to feel sick. No wonder Daemon was being so temperamental. The tiny bit of conscience that must remain in all people must be shouting by now, trying to convince him that what he had been doing all along was wrong. Misrepresenting, lying really, it wears down all of us eventually. And I had believed everything he had told me. I thought back on all of my actions. Then I thought about his. I had been used completely, a pawn in his dangerous games.

"And all this so you could be better than Kershean?"

By this point, Daemon had made himself comfortable on my pile of furs. I had moved to a distant corner of my cave as far away from him as I could, "In part, yes. But when I saw how he looked at you. He truly desired you. I just couldn't allow that." His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, like he didn't quite understand why he had added that last part.

"That's cruel."

His eyes glinted for a moment, "Perhaps, but aren't you forgetting something? It's not like you want Kershean anyway."

He was right. Even now I couldn't say that I would prefer Kershean. He was still an enigma, insulting, arrogant, claiming to love when he only really loved himself. Through his various endearments, Daemon had hinted at his feelings for me, but had never spoken the words. At least in that one way, he and Kershean were miles apart. Daemon wasn't delusional about his feelings for me.

There was still more I had to know, "What did you promise them? War with the humans?"

"You _are_ astute. Well so long as you keep your superior intelligence to yourself I suppose it will be alright. We can't have too many smart women around. Perhaps you can take over for the old woman when she disintegrates."

"That's sick."

"But so true." He laughed for a moment gleefully. He had every right too I suppose; he had within his grasp everything he could ever want. If only I had listened to Artha, and my father. Kershean at least couldn't agree to the war. Could he?

"You would really commit some type of genocide, all for power?"

"What are the humans to me? Or to you for that matter: We were here first."

"They don't even know about us!"

"And that is the irony. You argue that it is wrong, but still you must admit that they don't even remember us. Can't even be bothered to remember, more than likely. We will recover our birthright and rule, just as we were always meant to. And when there are so few of them left that they will be forced into hiding forever more, scared of their own shadows, they will never make the mistake of forgetting us again, or what we have done to them."

"You really believe all that?"

His voice dropped low, "Well no, not really, but the counsel believes it. You should have seen them salivate when I told them I was all for the war."

"Are you really going to go through with it?"

He shrugged, unconcerned about the fate of billions, "I don't know. Doesn't really matter."

"So everything you always told me you were opposed to? Everything you claimed to believe in? They were all lies?"

"Well crafted falsehoods, yes. Your support of me guaranteed the counsel's support. You are worth more than your father ever told you. I will be forever grateful that he kept such things from you. He made my job of convincing you so much easier."

I never knew him. I opted for false bravado to avoid the pain of betrayal, "Kershean will be back."

"And? There isn't anything he can do." For a moment, a brief second, I saw something in his eyes. Something that perhaps resembled fear. But it was gone before I hardly registered it.

"I want to talk to my father."

He rose from my furs. "Go ahead, you aren't a prisoner in your rooms. Of course you will always have a guard tracking you, so don't try anything."

The walk to my father's cave was a short one, particularly because I wasn't interested in taking my time. I knew my father had some type of alliance with Daemon, but perhaps he could be made to see reason. A small part of me hoped that he didn't already know how cruel Daemon really was, and that he would support me once he found out. I was his child.

I cleared my throat at the door, "Come in," his voice called. I'd hardly spoken to him after coming back to camp. I had been too wrapped up in Daemon.

"Ah Samara, Daemon mentioned you might be coming by." How did he know me so well, yet I didn't know him at all?

"Father I would like to talk to you."

"No first, let me say something. You were right." He smiled at me genially, "Daemon was a much better choice for you and for the tribe. I am sorry to have doubted you, my child."

"Father, I don't think you know how cruel he is. The things he has asked of me. The things he has done to me."

"You need a man like that Samara. You are too strong willed, you need someone who will take charge. Kershean," he nearly spat the name, "would have given you too much autonomy."

"Do you know he hits me?" I didn't bother mincing words. It was all I had left to convince him and I was getting annoyed with his general attitude.

For a moment he frowned. "Huh." He pursed his lips, "While I don't necessarily agree with him, you are technically his now, to do as his wills. And might I just say that you shouldn't keep him waiting for too long." He looked at me meaningfully.

I knew exactly what he was talking about. "I'm not ready."

"We all need the child, Samara. Our revenge is nearly upon us!"

I left him before he could begin to wax eloquent. A walk would clear my head, even if I couldn't shake my constant shadow, it would be good to get away from the majority of the tribe.

I reviewed the situation as I moved around boulders and through the freshly fallen snow. I was effectively mated to Daemon who only wanted me because of the power I could get him. And while he had no argument with the humans, he wasn't averse to exterminating them, all so he could have Kershean's birthright.

I could not believe how stagnant this society was. The humans truly were the better race, no wonder they had succeeded so much where the Neanderthal had failed. They evolved, they learned, they forgave. It was no wonder that my thinking, feeling, mother wished for and achieved escape and now effectively lived among the enemy.

I squared my shoulders reminding myself that I was far from beaten. Daemon couldn't watch me forever. Eventually he would have to look away, lighten my guard up for just a moment, and when that happened I would make my move.

I thought of Cammy and Beyonce, and even Jamie. I could see the looks of terror on their faces as their deaths came, at the hands of my family. I could never allow them to wage such a monstrosity. If only for those three, I would put a stop to this whole thing.

And then a shout was heard behind me, and a short scuffle, "You will let me be heard!" I knew that voice. The prodigal son had returned, but not to the reception he was expecting.

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_**To 'Saphire,' and 'Dorothee' who reviewed, but I couldn't reply to: Thanks for your kind words, they got me writing today.**_

_**And for 'addicted2obsession' and 'noukinav018' who have been with me almost from the beginning. Your reviews have helped me shape this story.**_


	13. Chapter 13

**It's snowing at my house today, everything is white and it's super cold. Yesterday it was 65 degrees. Explain that one to me…**

**To Jan and Samantha since I couldn't respond: Thanks for saying hi!**

Previously on Lost, I mean Forever Apart…

_And then a shout was heard behind me, and a short scuffle, "You will let me be heard!" I knew that voice. The prodigal son had returned, but not to the reception he was expecting._

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Chapter 13

Kershean was a mess. Wild-eyed and unkempt, he hadn't bathed in days, and it looked like he had more than a modest beard already growing. There were a few pine needles stuck in his hair which was standing on end with what I hoped was mud. His once meticulous camouflage army fatigues were now completely grey, and there was a rip at the elbow, revealing an equally grimy and tanned arm. He looked tired; his eyes were bloodshot, with large bruised circles under each one.

But with all this, he defiantly faced his brother, towering over him. "I demand to speak," he said in a voice rich with authority. He repeated his words in the language of the Exium Solus, loudly and succinctly and more of the tribe gathered around the pair.

I stared at him, a small smile growing on my face. He looked at me finally, as if I had called to him. He blinked several times and his mouth fell open, probably not expecting such a welcome from me. Frankly I hadn't been expecting it either. Daemon realizing he had lost his brother's attention, suddenly looked between the two of us.

"Don't look at my mate that way," he hissed in his brother's ear. It was said in French, though everyone understood the intent. Daemon's face was contorted with rage and possessiveness.

Color bloomed on my face, and I immediately dropped my eyes, finding my shoes particularly interesting.

"She is not your mate yet, for she does not wear the caltek, "Kershean countered. He was speaking of the jewelry that all the mated women wore on their foreheads. His voice was neither smug nor arrogant, just sure, and his voice was quite a bit quieter than Daemon's had been.

"She has been promised to me regardless. You will stay away from her." He looked at the crowd surrounding him, and then he too said something to them in their own language. Several eyes looked at me briefly before darting away. He must have repeated his threat.

I didn't understand much of what Kershean said next, though I heard the words "I, people," and "my."

Whatever he had said, Daemon didn't like it. He sputtered, then hissed again in French, "You would insult me Kershean?" His eyes searched for mine among the crowd as he spoke, as if he was speaking directly to me-trying to convince me of the supposed insult that of course I wouldn't have understood. Why was he so desperate for the enmity to continue between Kershean and I?

To his credit, Kershean did not take the bait, "I am here to talk to the tribe Daemon," he instructed his brother in French," If I have to speak in 5 different languages to make sure that you can't misconstrue my words, I will do so."

I was grateful to Kershean for the suggestion, now at least I would know what was going on.

"My family," his voice was reverent, "I speak not as a leader, but a fellow member of this tribe. I would share with you what I have learned since leaving you some weeks ago." He bowed his head for a moment, collecting his thoughts probably.

Daemon became impatient quickly, his eyebrows furrowed and his shoulders rolled back. Just as he was about to speak, no doubt to say something rude, Kershean began again, "You all will remember Charles DeWittier; the human who was desperate for immortality." He spoke of DeWittier matter-of-factly, without any hint malice in his voice, "He like most humans would wish to benefit from us if they knew of our secret."

Daemon sighed, "We all know this Kershean. Get to the point!"

Kershean rounded on his brother, "I'm not so sure that everyone understands this Daemon. A mere 100 kilometers from here I encountered two women who informed me that DeWittier was set to meet an insider somewhere up near our mountain. One of our own has betrayed us all."

A collective gasp sounded through the camp. People were looking frantically around them, some as if they would likely bolt at any moment to pick up, pack, and leave for a new refuge.

"That's ridiculous."

"I'm not so sure it is Daemon, how else would DeWittier have found his way up to the camp, without a _suitable_ guide?"

"Perhaps you aren't as good a scout as you thought. Perhaps it was due to your own follies that he found us while you were leading Samara to us. "

Kersehan looked at him long and hard, his hands closing into fists at his side. His body was a tensed coil ready to spring. While I was almost certain that Kershean would never hit a woman from my own experiences with him, I doubted he had such compunctions about his brother.

"Do not doubt your brother Daemon, I taught Kershean myself, by dismissing his abilities, you are dismissing me." The speaker was a little man standing calmly among the others, hands hanging languidly at his sides. His face was weathered, his body browned like leather. Here was a man who spent most of his time among the elements. He was the smallest of all the Neanderthals I had ever encountered.

"I meant no offense Master Kennon," Daemon said quietly.

"Yes you did." His gaze was unwavering despite his diminutive size, "It is time for you to bury this rivalist attitude you have. You are already the council's choice, now let your brother speak."

I waited for Kershean to explode in indignation about losing his seat and standing among his people. I was surprised when his face remained blank like he hadn't heard, or perhaps he just didn't care? There had been a time when I was certain that of the two brothers, Kershean would be the most concerned about how he appeared to the tribe.

Now I wasn't as certain. What was going through his head? I looked around at the others. Some looked just as stoic as Kershean, though there were a few interspersed here and there with growing smiles. Master Kennon was one of those. And then of course there were those that were frowning at him like Daemon was. I found myself smiling encouragingly at Kershean, waiting for him to speak.

Finally he continued, "It is odd Daemon that you show such an eager interest in dismissing my claims. I also went to Paris while I was gone."

He looked at his brother long and hard. Daemon merely looked confused.

"No idea what I'm talking about?"

Daemon smirked, "My brother is determined to be a thespian." A few in the crowd snickered.

Even with Daemon's taunting, Kershean retained his focus, "I found my way to DeWittier's headquarters. At the corner of Madeline Street and Stoppard in the financial district of Paris. The whole building was in an uproar. It seems that DeWittier was illegally siphoning money out of the accounts and transferring it elsewhere. I don't suppose you want to make a guess as to where?" I looked between the two boys. Why did Kershean keep asking Daemon such pointed questions?

Daemon threw his arms up in the air, "I don't know Kershean. Timbuktu? Maybe you'd like it there. Perhaps we could send you after you're done with this narrative," he threatened.

Once again Kershean ignored him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then his story recommenced, "The funds were sent to Seville, Spain. YOU Daemon, were the only Exium Solus member to be in Spain at that time. I found you there, and then reported your whereabouts to Master Kennon." The little scout nodded his head in agreement.

"And that's it? You're coming here and telling us all this and we're just supposed to agree that I am the "insider" and that I was the only one in Seville at the right time, all because you say so? All based on your word? What if I told you I've never been to Seville? Your little conspiracies wouldn't exactly work in that case, would they?"

Master Kennon spoke up, "We live by honesty in this tribe Daemon. Your brother told me 6 months ago that he had followed your trail as it led into Seville."

"So? How do you know it was me? Perhaps there were others in the city that you didn't know about. Perhaps Samara was in Seville. You weren't actively tracking her, were you? SHE could have been the one behind this the whole time." My mouth fell open at the accusation. How could he say such a thing? "We don't really know her yet, do we? She doesn't understand our traditions, she isn't really one of us. Who's to say what she would do for money."

Up to this point I had been a passive observer, but no more! "Wha…"I began to say, but Kershean cut me off,

"I know her Daemon. I watched DeWittier track her. I saw how he treated her. Samara was terrified of him, and she isn't that good of an actor." His lips lifted up slightly as he looked at me, letting me know that he hoped I didn't take his last comment as an insult. Even though I was reeling from the entire conversation, I felt my own lips pull into a wane smile in response.

A man stepped into the circle, I recognized him as Kershean and Daemon's father. "Kershean are you challenging your brother's right to leadership?"

"That wasn't my intent, Father. I simply wanted the tribe to know the truth."

"You have shared your story, and Daemon has discounted it. It is his word against yours." Kershean bowed his head, "He has convinced the counsel of his loyalty while you have been gone. He is to be our future leader. Without cold hard facts you don't have an argument, my son."

Kershean and his father looked at each other long and hard as if in silent conversation. It was difficult to tell what had passed between the two of them. Kershean finally opened his mouth and spoke in a loud voice, "In accordance with the ancient traditions and as the elder son of Adar, I challenge Daemon's right to leadership!" A gasp was heard.

I was the only one who gasped at the news. Apparently all of the others were expecting it. The two boys stepped back from each other and the crowd dispersed, and still I stood there like some kind of gaping fish. What had just happened?

Master Kennon was suddenly beside me, "Daemon should not have said those things about you."

"Thanks?" I had never spoken to the man before. Hadn't even known he had existed until today. I was a little suspicious as to why he was talking to me now.

"Do you know about the contest they are talking of?"

I shook my head. Though Master Kennon was a good deal shorter than me, there was something about him that spoke of a strength and power I could never hope to achieve. He left me tongue-tied and very, very nervous.

"Our leader is always to be the strongest of the tribe."

I nodded. Daemon had told me something similar.

Master Kennon continued, "There are many ways to show that strength. Impressing the council, convincing others to follow and implement your decisions. But the challenge; that is something that truly shows your merit."

"What will happen?"

"The contest is about dominion over the elements. They will be sent out as scouts, separately and apart from each other. Their success will be determined by how they complete their tasks."

"I don't understand." He frowned at me for a moment, and I realized that I had once again committed the Exium Solus faux pas, 'Women do not ask questions.'

"You do not need to know more. What I have told you will suffice." He moved away. I was grateful that he had taken the time to explain things to me, but also miffed that he was treating me the same as all the other males. I made my way to the kitchens where the cooks had begun preparing the evening meal. My brain was still reeling. Hopefully some food would help me calm down.

Daemon accusing me of leading DeWittier to us? Where had such a claim come from? It was incomprehensible. How could he do such a thing? If he had been there, if he had seen my struggles against DeWittier, he would never have suggested it. I was still fighting off recurring nightmares of the man.

Such thoughts naturally led to Kershean, the times he had defended me physically against DeWittier and his more recent defense of me to Daemon. He didn't have to say anything. He knew that I was more than capable of standing up for myself, yet he shielded me. What kind of man did that make him? And what did that say about me? For so long I had been discounting him, laughing at him, judging him. He had stood up for me, when it would have been easier just to let it slide. _"I know her,"_ he had said. And then that smile.

I gathered my food, and found a table. There were many Exium Solus around, all of them chatting, gesturing to each other wildly. I deduced that they were speaking of the upcoming contest. I wondered what it would mean for them. They had recently accepted Daemon as the leader. What would happen if Kershean was declared the winner and re-inducted among the council?

I focused on one man more colorful in his mannerisms than any of the others. There was something about the look in his eyes. It reminded me, nipped at my insides, my brain tried to relate.

And then suddenly it hit me, my dream! The way DeWittier had been looking at Daemon, exactly as the Neanderthal man was now looking at his companions. All of Kershean's claims and accusations flooded back to me. And it wasn't _just _a dream anymore. I had made the mistake of discounting my visions before. It had almost cost me the life of a friend.

But would anyone believe me? I wasn't so sure. Daemon's words cut through me, "_she isn't really one of us_." They were true, I _was_ an outsider. Would probably always be just an outsider. And if the others didn't believe Kershean's words, what's to say they would listen to me?


	14. Chapter 14

**I'm on track to finish, I think. Provided I don't decide to draw a couple of things out at the end to give them a bit more detail and descriptions. The last chapter I should be able to post next Saturday if that is NOT the case.**

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Chapter 14

The sky was inky black, stars glistened in the heavens and a slight breeze blew from the east, brushing the hairs off his forehead. He inhaled the morning air, let it fill his mouth, urged it down into his lungs. It caressed his insides, calming him. He exhaled.

He was the better tracker, deep down he knew that. He was well aware that Daemon had certain skills, and that it would be a hard contest. Daemon had always been exceedingly resourceful. Victory would not be easily won for either of them.

His little brother was sitting on a rock at the edge of the camp. His eyes were closed seemingly at ease, but Kershean could tell he was just as eager for the signal, his left foot was bouncing up and down in a steady rhythm. Dual flares in the night sky, of flint and steel struck together, identically bright and in opposite parallel directions. Each guiding the contestants to their prospective tasks.

Kershean set off towards his, moving fast. He would have time for caution when he reached his prey. Now was the time for speed. He had canvassed all of the paths down from the mountain before; the quickest routes were steep and predictably dangerous. He could feel his feet beginning to slip, but still he moved, arching his back to avoid the fall, it wouldn't be much longer now.

He reached stable ground and skidded to a halt. He had been moving directly perpendicular to the mountain. He knew the next path he was to take, but still, he gazed over the side of the cliff, still hoping that it would afford him a faster route. He knew that Daemon on the opposite side of the mountain would be doing something similar, looking for anything that gave him an advantage.

The cliff face was sheer, hardly a rock jutted out from it. There would be no handholds to help him down. He turned parallel to the mountain, to a well traveled path, and began running. His legs protested slightly after the precipitous run down; he begged them to be quiet. They would get no rest today.

He distracted himself with happier thoughts. He would never forget that smile. The first true one she had ever offered him, just as he met her eye when he had returned to camp. She had looked so beautiful right in that moment, her black eyes wide, her lips tugging upward. Even if he didn't win this contest, even if he was forcibly removed from camp and from her presence, he would never forget that smile. It had been the happiest moment in his young life.

He remembered too, the color in her cheeks when Daemon had discredited her. He gritted his teeth. How could his little brother be so cruel? Did Samara understand that Kershean had defended her? That he didn't think awfully of her as Daemon seemed to? She had offered him a small tight smile in response to his own. Maybe she didn't hate him. Maybe she had grasped his meaning. And maybe someday they could begin to understand each other, maybe they could be friends: He didn't dare hope for more.

After a mile, the trail gradually increased in elevation heading once more back up the mountain and he stopped. The cliff had begun to level out just enough that he could run down it again. He turned south.

He looked into the sky, finding the cluster of stars that had all but disappeared in the light of the flare. They were his target. Beneath that portion of sky, he would find the animal. He was to track it back to its home, and there he would find the weapon he could use to kill it. And when he returned to the camp the victor, the tribe would have a mighty feast.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He knew it would be harder than that. Finding the animal would not be the difficulty. For several days in all probability it would be his task to follow it at a careful distance, watching each step, and each and every one of his actions. Not spooking it into retreating; that would be the first difficulty. If he was careful, if he made sure to drink far enough downstream from it, if he was vigilant about how he moved through the undergrowth, conscious of disturbing the flora, eventually it would led him back to its den. He knew that somewhere would be the watcher, another tracker just as skilled as he was, watching and critiquing, grading him on his progress.

Speed was not the only thing that mattered in a contest such as this. It would certainly take him days to track the animal and he would be expected to live off the land during that time. At this time of year, there would be little for him to subsist off of. Starvation could make any seasoned tracker give in and kill his prey, for the easy meal waiting at his fingertips. This wasn't just about determining the victor, it was about acknowledging who was the strongest. Whichever of the contestants who had the stamina, the patience, and the willpower to complete the task correctly would be declared the winner. And that man would be the new leader. Kershean had the skills to win, but Daemon was stubborn, and unpredictable. There was no telling how hard he would work or what he would do for his victory.

Kershean moved into the trees, and sniffed the air. He could smell the acrid smell of the signal spark. He was close. He slowed his footfalls and steadied them, literally gliding over the landscape. Barely a grass blade was offset by his progress as he made his way towards his prey.

He wondered what it would be. A gentle deer? The ferocious wildcat? Or a tenacious boar? They would all be equally difficult in their own right, the deer would be easily spooked, he would have to mask his scent and move very cautiously when he was near it. The cat would be dangerous, willing to become a predator given cause; he would have to give it a wide berth. But the temptation to kill it early would not exist, for the meat would be inedible, tough and tasteless. The boar would offer meat, but it would also be a dangerous prey to follow, particularly if he pushed it into a corner. It would instantly go on the defensive. And boar meat was usually stringy though in a pinch it was palatable and rich in flavor. He weighed his options and determined it was best to hope for the cat. That would eliminate the temptation to kill it early; he would rather starve than eat wildcat.

He looked up to the stars, he was directly under Omniberan, or the human equivalent of Orion's belt. He had arrived. A tall tree greeted him, swaying in the light breeze, his signal had been shot from high in the branches. He could climb it to see if the animal was still nearby. It would be the easiest way to spot it and the fastest way to begin tracking it. But it would be impossible for him to do ascend and descend it in complete silence.

He sniffed the air again. An animal _had_ passed this way not to long ago. He could smell the sweat beaded in its coat. He looked to the ground, feces were scattered about. He was to track a boar.

It didn't take him long to find the animal, he had always observed that boars were notoriously unconcerned with how they traveled, there were broken and bent branches from the underbrush it had passed through, and hoof marks through the soft mud of the valley floor. From a slight rise he could see it, sniffing the ground looking for grubs. It was a male. He was grateful at least that it wasn't a sow. He wouldn't want to deprive any piglets of their mother. He supposed Master Kennon had been instrumental in the decision about what kind of animal each boy would track. The Master had unexpected depths when it came to hunting animals, "Every animal has its use, and you must use every animal," was the repeated mantra.

Kershean was disappointed as he followed the boar as it ambled its way to a nearby watering hole, formed from the melting snow. He had hoped for the cat: Would Samara have agreed to wear the skins, if she was his woman? What would it be like seeing her wear his kill, greeting him as he returned to their cave, her belly swollen with his child. He nearly cried out in anguish, for it would never be! No, it was better that he had the boar. The pelt was too coarse to make a suitable coat, the meat was mediocre at its best, just like himself.

Over the next days, the boar did not show any indication of knowing he was being followed. Nor was he anxious to lead Kershean back to his sounder. Perhaps he was still a rogue animal and had not mated yet for the season? Or perhaps nobody wanted him. Kershean felt a certain affinity to it.

Kershean was growing weary, and his stomach grumbled. He had been subsisting off tender grass blades, and the few berries he had harvested though they had barely been ripe enough to eat. Their taste was entirely too bitter, and his stomach had nearly revolted. And sleep had hardly been possible. Occasionally the boar had rested and Kershean had taken the opportunity to lean against a rock or a tree to rest. But he never dared close his eyes, and he was always listening for the slightest sound that the boar had moved onward.

The boar turned to the North suddenly with a renewed vigor in his step. A definite change in its routine. Either it had sensed something, or it was finally ready to head home. He hoped for the latter of course. The boar stopped at a stream of cold mountain water. Kershean stopped as well, gathered water into his palms, and drank gratefully. He didn't dare drink too much. He knew what too much water on an empty stomach would do. Kershean moved into the bushes as the boar raised his snout and sniffed the air.

And then several things happened at once.

Head lowered, tusks severe and deadly sharp, the boar suddenly charged. A pfft! of an arrow, directly shot through its heart, and still the boar charged. Kershean was frozen in place. Was there a human hunter in these woods? A second arrow flew, Kershean cringed as it made its mark in the beast's left eye. The boar dropped immediately. There was no time for it to occur to Kershean, that the contest would be over for him. Nor that he would most likely have to be rogue from now on. All he could think of was, "What a horrible way to die."

A figure strode forward, headed directly for Kershean's location, instead of towards the boar carcass. Not a human. It was Daemon. Kershean snapped back to reality as he saw the bow and arrow quiver slung over Daemon's shoulder.

"Why did you do that?" It wasn't really the question he wanted to ask, he knew why Daemon had done it, but he was as yet unable to form the words for any of the other queries flowing through his brain.

"Poor Kershean, got so hungry, he couldn't stand waiting any longer." Daemon's voice was taunting.

"You've cheated."

"Yes, I suppose I did. But the council will never know of it." He snapped his fingers, "And that reminds me. I might as well confess, while it's only the two of us, you were right about DeWittier.

"He was so desperate for immortality, he offered me money; I couldn't refuse that kind of wealth." He shrugged, "I wanted you to know. Especially because when the counsel discovers that you failed the contest so miserably, they'll never regard your word again. You'll be the outcast for once. And I will have everything you've ever wanted. It's bittersweet isn't it?"

"Why?"

"Because you are nothing special! Not when compared to me. It should have been me! I was meant to be the first born and heir." Daemon smirked and shook his head condescendingly before turning confident in his deception, and began striding away.

"A moment if you please, Daemon," a voice sounded from the trees. Daemon froze midstep.

Kershean's head turned towards the voice. And suddenly with them were 3 Neanderthal males, Franken, their father, and Hem one of the younger scouts still in training. They moved in a synchronized pattern, one to stand by the stream, another over the carcass, and Adar planted his feet equidistant between his two sons.

"Hem was kind enough to mention that you had made your way to Kershean's side of the mountain," the disembodied voice of Master Kennon called. A slight rustle and a thud was heard, as he descended from his coniferous perch.

Daemon finally found his voice, "What are you all doing out here? I didn't think you would be so eager to help Kershean complete his task?" His voice was mocking, still defiant. He was pretty sure that none of the others had heard what he just told Kershean. His voice had been low enough he was sure. And they probably didn't know that he had been the one to shoot the boar; he dropped the bow for good measure.

Master Kennon strode forth, his clothes impeccable, not a hair out of place, his body relaxed, his eyes the only thing glinting with anger at the young Neanderthal. "It was always such a shame Daemon that you did not complete your training. If you had, you would have known that I always have watchers checking on your progress. Tracking your every move. You didn't even bother with your own animal, your own watcher informed me. And you killed Kershean's. You seem eager for a forfeit.

"Nothing to say? You were quite _talkative_ earlier." The color drained from Daemon's face. Had they heard his confession after all? He tried to think up an excuse, some type of explanation but all his pretty words for once had failed him.

"How could you be so misguided, Daemon?" His father suddenly rounded on him menacingly, "You led such a man to your family, lying about your whereabouts and actions. All for a bit of human currency. You took your brother's rightful birthright and blatantly disregarded loyalty, blaspheming our way of life." He spat on the ground at Daemon's feet, and for good measure rubbed it deep into the soil, "You are no son of mine."


	15. Chapter 15

**So confession time: This might not be finished before I leave. **

**Sorry! **

**I hope I don't lose any of you guys. I'm really trying to get this done fast, but I don't want to compromise the story by speeding through it. Especially because we are getting to the fun part.**

_**Previously:**_

_**He spat on the ground at Daemon's feet, and for good measure rubbed it deep into the soil, "You are no son of mine."**_

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**Chapter 15**

Kershean had been right, and the whole camp was buzzing with it. Daemon had lied, cheated, and endangered the lives of every member of the tribe. There were other stories circulating of his female conquests, and the number of human children he had fathered, but I wasn't sure I believed those. There were also rumors of the cities he had razed. I definitely didn't believe those. One thing was for certain, the Neanderthals loved their gossip, there was hardly a moment that went by without new information about Daemon's wrongdoings.

The man himself was under some type of house arrest, kept to his cave with a contingent of large guards always standing outside his door. It wasn't lost on me that the same guards that had watched me, were now watching Daemon. Who exactly were they loyal to? I will admit, it made me nervous. Would they look the other way one evening and let Daemon escape? And if Daemon did get away, he was sure to exact his revenge, against Kershean, his tribe, and even me.

It made me consider other things. Why had Kershean done it? Family loyalty sure, but was there something else? He had been avoiding me, or I had been avoiding him, unsure as to where we stood, how should I act toward him? Was I to thank him for saving me from a life with Daemon? I was grateful, but unsure if I had played any role in his decision to expose his brother. And suppose I expressed my gratitude and he spurned me. Well I wasn't sure I could handle that.

"It had nothing to do with you," I could hear him, whispering, shouting, sneering those words.

Sometimes it was in his rich timbre, sometimes his voice morphed into Daemon's; but every time, the words were the same. Those words haunted me. And deep down I knew that when he finally did get around to saying them, I would deserve them. I had been unnecessarily cruel to him.

I had seen him once since the challenge. One time before our world had begun to fall apart.

"_Samara," my father called me from my evening meal. "You are wanted."_

_Instantly I knew that the contest was over, and from the frown on my father's face it didn't appear as if the outcome had gone as planned. Did that mean that Kershean had won over the ardently supported Daemon? I put down my fork, and followed him outside of the dining hall. I was brimming with curiosity but I held my tongue until we were alone._

"_Who won the contest, father?"_

"_It matters not," he dismissed my query, "You are wanted for your skills."_

_Skills? He led me to the Old Woman's cave a curl of smoke already meandering from the roof though it was yet to be twilight. Was this were all of the council meetings took place? All the time I had spent searching for them and they had been right under my nose. I groaned and my father looked at me quizzically just before we entered._

_Inside the room was stuffy and packed with what seemed to be every male member of the tribe. The smell of incense was stronger than ever, trying to counteract the strong earthy smell of so many bodies in such a small space. At the back was the old woman wrapped in her furs, her eyes as sharp as ever as her eyes followed my entry. _

_Adar stood to her right, and Kershean was kneeling at her left. In front of her was a prostrate Daemon, his forehead to the floor. He didn't move a millimeter even though I knew my entrance should have been loud enough to attract his attention. The only acknowledgment I received from the room was a quick flick of both Adar's and Kershean's eyes in my direction. I could feel the stress of the room begin to settle on my shoulders. _

_My father took an empty place in the circle that surrounded Daemon, and tugged me along to stand beside him. I settled into my place nervously, waiting for what I worried would not be good. _

"_Samara, your father has told me that you are a dreamer?" The old woman's voice was quiet, but certain of my answer._

_I nodded anyway, though I doubt she was expecting an acknowledgment. _

"_Not many have such a gift. My mother was the first blessed with it. It was how she knew of the impending attack from the humans all those millennia ago. It saved those who followed her. It is an unusual gift. Occasionally I am blessed with a vision."My eyes widened at her confession. Why had no one told me that before? "Ah yes, you did not know that. We are more alike that you probably have ever imagined. But that is not why we are here today."_

_She cleared her throat and winced. Adar offered her a ceramic cup filled with water. She waved him away, "As I said, occasionally I am blessed with a vision. It seems to dim with each ensuing life. And it is dependent on the life experiences of the dreamer. My life cycle is coming to an end, I spend my time in this bed, waiting as my body deteriorates. I do not associate with the others as I once did, because I cannot. But you? You have experienced much."_

_My father had been translating all along. He turned to me suddenly, "And of all of us, you knew Daemon the best. You were the closest to him."_

_The Old Woman looked at him quizzically and he spoke to her in the Exium Solus language. "Yes, I do ramble sometimes. Your father is right. The material point is that of all of the dreamers, you are the most likely to have had a vision."_

_I knew exactly what she was talking about, though I had attributed my latest vision as being some type of wishful thinking on the part of my subconscious, wanting to be free of Daemon's tyranny, it had created the dream from nothing. But perhaps I was wrong. _

_The Old Woman at least believed that I'd had a vision. She nodded towards me, and I began to speak. "A few nights before Kershean returned, I had a dream. Two men meeting in darkness, one was DeWittier, the other was Daemon." Her gaze didn't waver from mine. It was if she already knew all that I would say. "Daemon promised DeWittier that he would show him the way to our camp for an unspecified amount of money. He told DeWittier about Kershean, and about me. He gave him clues about how to find me." I remembered the last thing he had said and I breathed uneasily for a moment before continuing, "He said 'it didn't matter what happened to me.' He was only concerned about the money he would earn in exchange for guiding DeWittier to us." _

_Daemon's head had come up during my recitation, "That's a lie! You are going to believe an outsider who 'supposedly' dreams like one of our own. I already told you that I was only taunting Kershean when I told him that it had been me who met with DeWittier. I knew how it would infuriate him." He looked at his brother, his upper lip lifting to a sneer._

_I looked at Kershean as well. He stood very still, watching me carefully. Waiting for my reaction. _

_I knew what I wanted to say, what I wanted to do. Name calling would be involved. Perhaps a short physical struggle. _

_But that look. It was if Kershean was speaking to me subconsciously. My reaction to Daemon's cruel words would be telling and very important. "I was asked me to share my vision. I simply told what I saw. As for Kershean, I was not there, and cannot answer for him."_

_Kershean's voice was rich, and something tugged at my insides when he spoke, "I have already given my evidence. It is for the council to decide."_

_Daemon's eyes narrowed in disgust when he realized that neither one of us were willing to deal with him. He looked towards his father who met his look with such menace that his head immediately lowered, forehead once again on the ground._

_Every member of the council took a large step forward, to encircle Daemon's form completely from my view. For a full 30 seconds it was silence. Then a gong sounded, and the old woman threw more incense onto the fire._

_Adar spoke, "You have forgotten it seems Daemon, how much we value the dreamers. Why do you think we have inter-mated with their tribe? When our descendants share all the traits of the Exium Solus commonly, we will be unstoppable. _

" _The evidence given by Kershean, your own lack of loyalty, your willingness to skew the contest results, and the vision of a dreamer is enough to discredit you completely. Do not try to further your webs of deception among this counsel. It will only turn out badly for you."_

"_Daemon you have been found guilty of treasonous actions. Your loyalty is in question. Await your punishment," a singularly cloaked figure spoke from the side of the circle. In his hand was a long thick wooden pole, sanded and polished. He rapped it on the floor three times._

_My father tugged on my arm, leading me back from the circle and outside again. "You are no longer wanted. And it would be best if you did not hear the ruling of the council. I fear it will be severe."_

Now 24 hours later, still not seeing hide or hair of Daemon or anyone else from the circle for that matter, I was beginning to worry about what the final decision had been. I knew he was still around, for the guard had not been diminished outside of his cave. And I knew he was probably desperate for escape, as I remembered his attitude during his trial.

Perhaps it was overly cautious of me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was planning his revenge. So, I kept to the common areas, and tried to always be within sight of the others, just in case he decided to make his move.

From the gossip flowing around camp, and the little I had gleaned from the meeting I knew that Daemon had somehow tried to cheat during the challenge. I demanded answers from my father as he walked me to my cave. All he would say was that Daemon had tried and failed at discrediting Kershean. Beyond that he refused to say more. It made me all the more desperate for news. What would happen to Daemon? How would the rest of us cope with his betrayal? Were there others out there, coming for us, even now?

News came from an unlikely source. Kershean appeared at my cave before sunrise. I was awake, having not gone to sleep the night before, all of the questions and concerns swirling like a whirlpool inside my head.

"Samara?" His voice caressed my name in a way Daemon's never had. _It had nothing to do with you_. It taunted me to my depths.

I shook it clear, "Come in Kershean."

He opened the fur tentatively and peaked inside, "Did I wake you?" His eyes were wide, his shoulders hunched, he looked very much like a little boy about to receive his punishment.

"I've been awake for awhile, thinking."

"Oh." He cleared his throat, "I came to tell you the news. I figured no one else would think to tell you." He was choosing his words very carefully. I was sure what he meant to say was that no one thought it was important to tell me anything. "Daemon has been sentenced."

"What's to happen?"

"Something that has never been done before. But the Old Woman was adamant. Though she holds no seat on the council, she still holds sway with most of us because of who her mother was. 'Daemon must not go free she said.' And the council agreed with her. Throughout the proceedings he was insolent and stubborn. Most thought he had gone crazy as he claimed one inventive falsehood after another."

"You can't very likely keep him locked up in his cave forever." He looked at me oddly then, a mixture of incredulousness and disappointment.

"No. Something more serious has to be done. He is to be banished."

"But he'll find his way back! I can only imagine what he would do?!"

He coughed a bit, "He won't know how, he won't know anything. He's to be a baby."

_He's to be a baby. _Surely he didn't mean…I fell amidst the furs, _"We protect our own…we don't really do that,"_ Daemon had told me. Who would have known his words would be so fortuitous. "You will kill him and then abandon him?"

I heard a long sigh from Kershean and looked up at his face. It was stoic, his voice flat, "I thought you would like to know his punishment. Regardless of your preferences, it must be done. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news." He looked at me hard for a moment, his eyes roving over my face, "Goodbye Samara," he finally offered quietly, and then he was gone before I could say anything.

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**I will try and post at least once more before my trip! But everything I've been writing lately is crap…**


	16. Chapter 16

**Man, every time I'm feeling down, your reviews just lift me back up. So in honor of that, another chapter!**

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**Chapter 16**

He thought I was in love with Daemon. _**He**_ thought _**I**_was _**in love**_with _**Daemon**__._ Of course I didn't come to this realization right away. It was painfully embarrassing how long it took me, and how many times I noticed Kershean awkwardly avoiding me, before it finally clicked. Not that I wasn't sort of avoid him myself.

Daemon's execution quietly occurred. One evening there were two guards standing and looking formidable outside his cave-the next morning they were gone, the fur flap removed from his door. Franken was missing too and Artha was morose. Someone would have to take on the responsibility of transporting Daemon's new body off the mountain. Franken must have been the one chosen.

Through all of this I wasn't sure how I felt. My thoughts were entirely in torment. Daemon of old had long ago ceased to exist for me, and I had already mourned his passing. The new Daemon, the real Daemon I suppose, was not as endeared to me. We were only connected because of his first alternate and decidedly more charismatic personality.

So Daemon was gone… Daemon the forceful, arrogant, violent, lying, cheating man, was gone. I thought on that. No pangs of remorse. He was gone and he wasn't coming back. Ever. Still nothing. He was a defenseless baby, somewhere out there in the world, never to know who he was or where he came from. Just as I had been once. Would he fit in among the humans, or was he destined to be a loner as I had always been? He would never know why his family didn't want him. Now _that_ I felt guilty about. But it wasn't enough because I wasn't in love with him.

But I couldn't exactly walk up to Kershean and say that, could I? _"Hi, on a completely unrelated note, I'm not in love with your brother."_ And was I suppose to walk away after that? Have a question and answer period? What if Kershean asked the difficult questions that I didn't have any answers for?

Or worse, what if he told me that he didn't have any of _those_ feelings for me anymore. I couldn't decide which was worse. And I definitely didn't know how I felt about that. So yes, I admit, I avoided Kershean almost as readily as he avoided me.

I was headed towards the kitchens, as part of my predictable pattern of late, already smelling the eggs baking. Mixed with a bit of flour and lots of sugar they resembled a type of sweet breakfast quiche. My mouth was watering. The sweet quiche was a kitchen specialty, not served often, but still a universal favorite. The dining hall was buzzing with people digging into their own breakfasts. My heart began to pound, my internal Kershean monitor. He was among them.

I looked to my right, and there he was, sitting very near to the door and thus quite close to my current location. His eyes rose to mine, stuttered for a second, then he offered a tiny smile. Deliberately he raised his hand from the table and patted the pillow beside him. As if in a trance, I approached him, my heart beating the cadence.

"I would very much like it if you sat with me today." It was said quietly, but I would be an idiot if I didn't notice the sound around us dropped a decibel. All those Exium Solus, and their almost dietary need for gossip. Yeesh!

"Uh…sure." I sat down.

"Can I retrieve you some breakfast?" The words were spoken formally. Too formal if you ask me.

And he was gone before I forced another 'sure' out. He moved methodically through the tables as I sat, frozen in place, watching him, wondering what exactly was going on. When he turned to return and I caught sight of my plate, my eyes grew huge. Surely he wasn't expecting me to eat all of that? He placed the plate carefully in front of me, sat down and returned to his own breakfast. I was slightly disappointed when he leaned away from me as he ate.

The plate was piled with fried meats, baked eggs and crusty breads slathered with freshly churned butter and preserves. I poked my finger into one and licked it. Strawberry; my favorite. How did he know? My food was separated by type, meat on the left, toast in the middle, eggs on the right. I sat immobile. And the pillow I was sitting on at his direction was the firmest of those at the table, its cover made of coarse cotton. I preferred those to the cushier silk ones. Also because it was easier to sit on the cotton ones without sliding off.

How did he know all these things about me? It was confusing and depressing; because he was still such a mystery to me. Would Kershean always be an enigma to me? I had just taken a bite of toast when Kershean broke the silence.

"How have you been holding up?"

It was an odd question, and it reminded me of our last conversation. Interestingly, Kershean had been more on the brain lately than Daemon. "I've been doing fine."

He frowned for a minute, then picked up a bake egg and ate it carefully. I mimicked him, though the yoke characteristically began running down my chin. His eyes flicked down to my lips, then my chin, and he couldn't look away, his body still, his eyes unblinking. I quickly wiped it away, and still he stared. His own lips were pursing and I was so sure that he had some type of derogatory comment just waiting to be said. But still he said nothing. He squeezed his own eyes shut, and turned deliberately back to his breakfast.

For a long time, he avoided looking in my direction. Was I truly that hideous? "Do you have any plans for today?" he suddenly asked.

I shrugged even though I knew he wouldn't see it. His eyes were still glued to his plate, "I don't know, maybe I'll visit with Artha, make some bracelets or something."

"Are you her apprentice?" The words weren't sharp, just curious.

"No, not really. I just like doing it, I guess."

"Oh." I chanced a sidelong glance at him, and watched him cram his own butter and jam covered toast into his mouth. His cheeks chipmunked out. He chewed slowly: Probably trying to avoid more awkward conversation. I couldn't really blame him. I would just as easily have ducked out already if it weren't for the food. Then again, I couldn't deny that just sitting here together, not fighting, was kind of nice.

He kept shoving food into his mouth-barely breathing in between bites-and before I knew it, his plate was almost cleared. Mine was still nearly full. I had only been nibbling as I tried to piece together the puzzle of the boy next to me.

Finally Kershean shoved his empty plate away and turned to face me. He tugged at his hair for a moment, refusing to look up at me. The fingers of his opposite hand toyed with a loose string at the bottom of his shirt. He wrapped it around his right index finger clockwise, then counterclockwise. I was mesmerized.

"Look Samara. I just…I have to say it. I'm sorry I didn't before." He cleared his throat, "I feel awful about Daemon. About what that means to you, I mean." He paused. His eyes flicked up to mine for only a moment. Or perhaps, a moment of a moment. If I would have dared blink I would have missed it. His hand moved to the table drawing patterns on the stone. His eyes followed those fingers, riveted, "I know you guys were close, and, I'm sorry you got hurt in all of this. I heard once that time heals all wounds. I don't believe it, but maybe it will work for you. Anyway, that is all I wanted to say."

It was perhaps the longest speech I had ever heard him make. And he had never spoke so disjointed before. I was at a loss for words.

He rose to his feet, still not looking at me. My eyes took in his entire form. Had he always been so muscular? His hand quivered away from his side, as if he was trying to reach out for me. He gripped it suddenly into a fist and shoved it behind his back. "I'm truly sorry Samara. I'll see you." And then he left, shuffling out of the hall, his shoulders hunched, his head down.

And that, that was the moment that I realized; _He thought I had been in love with Daemon_. _That I had somehow managed to forgive all of Daemon's transgressions and loved him despite them._ Perhaps I would have if Daemon had not been so scrupulously honest with me. Had not made sure that I daily knew exactly how unimportant I was to him.

I blinked as the tears began to burn under my eyelids. And Kershean all the while had been trying to comfort me. Was he avoiding me because he thought that his mere presence would be too much of a reminder of Daemon? Or, could he not bear to see me grieve his competition? Neither thought brought me any comfort.

Had Kershean always been so sacrificing? I had always considered him a menace. Coming and dragging me away from my school, my life; forcing me to follow him through the wilderness. Making me eat those awful granola bars. He probably had found something better. _But he couldn't have_ I reasoned. We had hardly been apart during our journey. Every few days, he would wolf down on one of the granola bars. But nothing else.

And there had been that one time, he had found an out of season bird's nest and cooked the eggs for us. He had let me have the greater portion. I had seen for myself this morning, how much the boy could eat. And still he had restricted himself, making sure I'd had the most.

He had carried me when I could walk no further, and found the bike for us, even though it was risky to travel so out in the open like that. He had stolen it, but since that was a foreign concept among the Exium Solus, perhaps I could forgive him that. All along, though we had argued, and he had threatened, he had cared for me, kept me from harm. He had looked out for my best interests.

The only thing I could truly be angry about was when he had deserted me and led DeWittier away. He had promised to come back. Instead, he moved on without me. I had nearly died without him. But I had to admit that there was a certain amount of prideful feeling when I found the sentinel on my own, the young Hem. Did he know me so well that he understood that too, that some things I had to do on my own?

Still, I would have died if not for my mysterious goat herder. I grabbed hold of the anger I felt over that betrayal and held onto it. The last few days had been traumatic. Mostly I had been numb, deep into my bones loss to all feelings. And so I relished the anger as I tore into my fried meat. Why had he left me alone in the wilderness? I deserved an explanation for that!

But the anger didn't last long. Perhaps through 2 more strips of meat, and one last piece of toast. I couldn't very likely be angry with such delicious food happily annexed in my belly. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself, that wasn't the reason I had given it up. I just couldn't feasibly be at odds with Kershean any longer. The list of his attributes well outweighed his sins.

I refused to consider his disastrous proposal in either category. I didn't really want to think about that. Or ever talk to him about it. That would truly be awkward. Even more so then the meal we just shared. It wasn't as if I had feelings for Kershean. I barely even liked him. In the past all we had done was argue. And now we shared some type of uneasy truce that had morphed into a painful clumsiness between us, like the sound of satin rubbing against satin.

But I knew one thing for certain. Like the heroine of that British novel, 'I couldn't bear, that he was in the world somewhere and thinking ill of me.' Why did that bother me? No really, _Why_ did THAT bother me?

I had always known him to be pushy, arrogant, self-serving and the list could continue for eternity. At least it should have, but I was having trouble coming up with more adjectives…I toyed with my food, breaking my toast into tiny bits and moving them around the plate. I pierced all of my baked eggs, and watched as the yokes seeped out of them.

Kershean hadn't been arrogant lately. We hadn't interacted much that was true, but there was still lacking that tone of superiority and smugness in all of his words. He had been timid almost. Tiptoeing carefully around me, concerned about how I was feeling. He had never bothered before. So, not pushy, not arrogant.

But self-serving? Perhaps.

He had come back to camp with evidence of Daemon's transgressions. He had said that it was for the good of the camp. But were those just pretty words? Daemon had usurped his authority and position as elder son. He had taken his birthright, his place on the council, and well, me.

Was the whole situation really about the good of the camp, or was it just about taking back what had been his? He had stood in the judgment council, head down, I had encountered his eyes only once. The one time he had looked at me, he was trying to communicate the need to be wary of my temper. What about the rest of the half hour I spent amongst the council? I had been entirely focused on the prone figure at my feet. Perhaps Kershean's eyes were filled with superior light when he knew I wasn't looking? Possibly not, but I couldn't be certain. I tried to think back. But nothing existed except for the still surly Daemon, trying to argue his innocence in the face of so much opposition.

The truth was I couldn't know. And that made me very nervous. I had to know, was it all just a game to him as well? Daemon had been full of pretty speeches. Daemon and Kershean--brothers--what if it wasn't only skin deep?


	17. Chapter 17

**Alright, the rest is done! Yeah!!! **

**I will get it all posted before I get on the boat on Tuesday.**

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Chapter 17

Did he have to smile at me like that? I mean really, there is only so much a girl can take! But once handsome men start smiling? I imagine it was like one of those dreamy American actors--meeting them in person, and then having them smile at you luminously, like you are the only girl in the world. How was a girl supposed to recover from that? So far I was failing miserably.

It all started yesterday. I had been getting pitying looks from the whole of the tribe all day. They stood apart, watching me, whispering together. Then they would look at me, their eyes creased at the edges with worry, their mouths a straight line and slightly pouted. I couldn't take it anymore, so I went to see Artha.

"Hi Artha." Like always, she was outside of her cave, sitting on a coarse pillow, weaving.

I wondered if she had been allowed to pick out her cave. It had the best view, the valley below, and a city in the distance. Probably Grenoble. On a clear day, I imagined I could see as far as Lyon. Perhaps the patisseries would be open this early in the morning. My mouth began to water as I thought about warm apple tarts. If I was in Lyon, I could be eating one right now. I wondered how much longer I was expected to stick around. Now that Daemon was gone, was I allowed to leave? Or did they expect that if I left I would automatically go looking for him. Would I be asked to stay just in case?

Artha brought me from my thoughts, "Hello Samara. How are you?"

"I'm good," and I smiled at her genially.

"Are you certain?" She was looking at me with such concern, just like all the other members of the tribe. I'm not proud of what happened next.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm fine! I know I was all starry-eyed about Daemon in the beginning. But he turned out to be very different from what I thought. He really was a menace and I'm glad he's gone."

I had spoken too quickly and from the look on Artha's face, she hadn't understood a word, "Daemon really was a bad man. Don't you remember? You helped me run away. "

Her brow furrowed, "I thought perhaps he had said kind words…"

"No, he didn't apologize. I was worth nothing to him. And now he means nothing to me."

The hairs on my neck prickled. I looked up, and spotted Kershean not too far away, looking at me, his black eyes unblinking as he seemingly searched my soul. And then he smiled. The first of the smiles.

Artha looked between the two of us, a smug little look on her face. Had I just been set up? "Kershean is a good man."

She had played me like a fiddle. And I didn't dare retaliate. How could I, when she barely understood French? And what if I offended her in the process? Sweet Artha. She only wanted everyone around her to be happy. She wasn't trying to be cruel. She truly thought that what she was doing was for the best. I couldn't fault her for that. So I kept quiet. That was my first mistake.

I admit that I was grateful for Kershean's interference. Inadvertently he HAD saved me from a miserable life. Okay, so perhaps I was very grateful. But that didn't mean…I wasn't ready… Arghh!!

It was all so new, and I was still worried that perhaps he was up to something. Perhaps he wasn't as innocent as he seemed. Daemon had fooled us all. How could I _know_ that Kershean was any different? And why did he have to smile at me like that! One of those awful, face splitting, teeth showing, eyes twinkling smiles. Gah! Sometimes I really hated him.

He was just too handsome. Yes he was a bit of a bumbling idiot, but perhaps that was all part of his plan. Kill 'em with stupidity. It was possible!

You would be freaking out too, in my situation, I'm sure of it. Especially if you'd just had a dream about a boy you were sure you hated. I was certain it was a dream. There was no way it was a vision. It just couldn't be.

_Kershean with his arms wrapped around me, leaning towards my lips, focused, intense. And he smelled so good, like man and a freshly blooming meadow. I could almost taste him as he moved so very slowly towards me. Just a millimeter and our lips would touch. I tried to move, but I remained stock still, my body unable or unwilling to listen to my commands. Kershean stopped, his forehead nearly touching my own, his eyes drifted shut, and I could feel the softest touch like the wings of a butterfly on my mouth as he finally succumbed…_

That was when I woke up. So totally un-cool. And to make things worse: Like a broken record, the dream (not a vision!!!) plagued me all day, taunting me. I relived that very last moment, the softest of touches, but not an actually kiss over and over again. I tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss him. Just so I could finish the dream, mind you. Hoping that then it would go away and stop bothering me. But how could I do that if I didn't know what it would be like. Arghh!!!

And then there he was smiling at me, again. Like he knew what I was going through. And he was happy that I was in pain. Only there wasn't a hint of smugness in his look. Just that bright-eyed smile, grinning like he'd just been given the world. What did it all mean?

So I was officially going crazy, warring with myself. I needed a distraction. I tried the kitchens. Usually eating required my full concentration especially when it was something particularly messy and I didn't want to dribble on myself. Yes, a nice messy meal would be the perfect distraction. I was to be disappointed.

The camp was in upheaval, everyone was preparing to leave. For though he had never admitted to it, Daemon could have sold our secrets to others. It was time to move. And the kitchens were only serving the bare necessities, since they would have the most to pack and prepare. They only had bread, chewy dried meat, and hunks of goat cheese. I grabbed some anyway. Most of the pillows had already been packed as well. There were only a few left, sitting before a single stone tables.

And there was the product of my dreams. Sitting on a pillow, chewing on a piece of bread. I watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his strong tawny throat, completely riveted as he swallowed. I must admit, I'd never found Adam's apples attractive before. But there was something about his, so strong and tan, and so very close to his mouth. I blinked and shook my head roughly. Get a grip Samara. He looked up and smiled at me yet again. Dang it!

But he didn't beckon me over to join him. That was probably a blessing. I would have melted into a puddle of goo on the spot. Why _was_ I so distracted by him? It was like when we first met, except there were no derogatory comments, no cruel looks. Just all man. Deliciously scrumptious, muscularly tanned, handsome man. It suddenly felt stiflingly hot. I had to get out of there.

A walk, a very long walk amongst the elements! Frozen toes were sure to distract. I walked around camp. It didn't take long, and my body was still jumpy. I walked to the edge of camp. I found the overlook where I had first met Daemon. It all seemed so long ago. I had been so angry at my father, at Kershean…

New place! I went boldering, scrambling down large rocks, till I reached level ground. That gave me a few moments of peace.

There wasn't much level ground to speak of, but I had never been here before, so it was new enough that it would keep my interest, and wouldn't cause any unpleasant memories to pop up. Now I could sit and enjoy the view. I closed my eyes and breathed in the mountain air, crisp and cold. I felt my heart beat calming down, after my dash across the rocks. I counted the beats.

I opened my eyes and looked at the valley. At the rocks that continued down the mountain, and finally disappeared into the underbrush of Rosacae and Juniper. And at the distant deciduous trees, just beginning to bud with pale green leaves. And the conifers, still green, always green, standing in defiance of the cold arctic breezes that blew from off my mountain. Tenacious to the bitter end, they barely twitched in the air that blew my hair back from my face. I could feel the hairs on my neck prickling, either from the wind, or someone was watching me.

I whirled around, immediately edgy. But there was nobody there. Not up at the top, not behind any of the rocks. But I had been so sure. Still the hairs tickled. Who could be watching me?

Kershean.

Well there was just one thing to do. If I couldn't get him out of my head, I would just have to confront him. Surely one conversation would be enough to remind me of how mediocre he was. How unsuited for each other we were. Hadn't he said something like that? But that was before he started being so, so nice. And before I realized how nice he was to look at, especially when he was quiet.

Of course now that I had decided my next course of action, Kershean was nowhere to be seen. I even had conversation topics (yes I am that nerdy) all picked out ahead of time. I could ask him about the tribal meetings. That always seemed to bother Daemon. Perhaps it would be the same for Kershean? Just a simple, "So how are things going in the council?" Maybe I could offend his sensibilities by asking something silly like, "What do you guys do, sit around and eat all the good stuff?"

Now where to find him? I had seen him everywhere recently, as I walked to my meals, in the dining hall, lurking near my cave…Perhaps he was in one of his meetings. I giggled to myself as I thought about the men sitting around having burping contests. _Yes, we discussed very important policies today_.

I was almost prepared to go over to his cave. Almost. So I wasn't quite as brave as I thought I was. Besides I reasoned, it wouldn't do to corner him in his own space. I went back to the kitchens and stuck my head in. Adar was sitting in a corner, his back to me. A few of the cooks were taking their mid-afternoon break. But no Kershean. If Adar was here, it meant that there weren't any meetings going on. At least I hoped that was what it meant.

Maybe Kershean was talking with Hem. Hem would be at his post at the edge of the camp. It was getting dark, clouds had blown in, making it breezy and cold. Hem stood, ever the sentinel, oblivious to the wind as it whipped his fur coat around his ankles. In his hand he held a staff. It looked to be too bulky to be any kind of defensive weapon, but I suppose he was just as deadly at it as I was with a bow. And Kershean wasn't with him. I was ready to turn around without announcing my presence, when he suddenly looked up and at me.

"Hi Hem." I waved at him. He rose his hand slightly, his brow creased with confusion. Oh yeah, _Duh Samara, he doesn't speak French._

I switched to the language of the Exium Solus, hoping the few words I knew would be sufficient, "Kershean, not here?" I made sure to inflect the end of my sentence fragment so he would understand that it was a question.

He looked at me oddly again, then said something back to me. Most of the words I did not understand. There was a 'no' somewhere in there though. I muttered a 'thanks,' waved again, then left. He probably had told me exactly where I could find Kershean, but of course I hadn't understood. Dejected, I plodded back to my cave.

I flung open the door and stomped inside, trying to stop the tears of disappointment from forming. Stupid hormones. I didn't like all of these emotions flowing. What was he up to? Maybe nothing? Maybe something! I didn't like being in the dark. I wanted to know for sure. Who was he really? I flopped on my bed without even looking up.

"Uh, Samara?" I shot back up like a rocket.


	18. Chapter 18

**Almost to a hundred reviews yeah!!!**

**One more chapter after this, unless I decide to have more Samara/Kershean time before the big moment. What do you all think? (Keep in mind there will be potential for lots of together time in Part III) So do you want the end right now, or do you want more fluff, first?**

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**Chapter 18**

Kershean was crouched in the corner, sitting on one of the pillows watching me, his look a warring contrast of amusement and concern. Concern because of how I had entered, and amusement because my mouth had dropped open, my eyes had widened, and I had squealed (just a little). And I was still staring at him in shock. He looked comfortable, his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the wall. And gorgeous.

"Have you ever been to Paris?" Well that was unexpected: Enough to wake me from my trance.

"Once. I was about 15. It was bigger than I expected. Lots of people. Tourists everywhere, hardly any of them spoke French. I liked the architecture though."

"I thought it was big, too."

"Oh that's right, you went for the…"I closed my mouth abruptly, and looked away. Probably not wise to bring up the reasons why he went to Paris. It would stir up all kinds of unpleasantness.

"I spent a lot of time there. Walking through the streets, watching the people. There was some type of religious holiday going on. It was incredible."

I knew what he was talking about. The French went all out for their religious holidays. Most European's did.

"The people were so happy. Lining the streets, singing and dancing. They were smiling, grinning really like nothing could go wrong; ever. Even though there were so many people that they were bumping into each other, none of them cared. They didn't yell or curse at each other. They just laughed and kept dancing." He stopped speaking for a moment, and pursed his lips. I understood what he was talking about, but I was confused as to where he was going with all of this. But he hadn't said anything rude, and he hadn't insulted me, so I kept quiet.

"They were happy. So very happy." He smiled ruefully for a moment.

"And I realized that they knew something we did not. I don't think any of us are happy. Maybe on a good day, you could say that we are satisfied. Most of the Exium Solus have existed for so long that I think they have forgotten what it means to be happy. They are so consumed with their revenge." He shook his head, "I don't know, maybe they think that will make them happy."

"And what do you think, Kershean?"

"Daemon got them so excited about it. Maybe if we knew the secret, the council would give up their thoughts of revenge." He looked at me long and hard, his eyes pleading, "Why _are_ the humans so happy Samara?"

"I don't know Kershean." And I really didn't know. I had always been one of the quieter students, willing to just slide through life, not unhappy, but not happy either. Not like Cammy, or even Beyonce who were always happy and smiling. I had never thought about it before. But now I wondered, what _was_ it that made them so happy?

"Will you think about it? I really would like your advice."

He wanted my advice? He wanted my advice! Daemon had never wanted such a thing.

"Really?" My tone was full of incredulity.

He noticed, "What are you thinking?"

"That this might be a little too good to be true. Nobody has ever wanted my opinion before."

"Well I do."

I crossed my arms, raised one eyebrow and stared at him.

"I mean it! Really I do. Have I done or said something that would make you think otherwise?"

And there it was. One of those difficult questions. "Well I…When you…" But I had nothing. Sure he had been rude, crass occasionally, but usually only when I pushed him to it. While he brought out the worst in me, I was probably also bringing out the worst in him. Truly, Kershean had never even hinted at expecting some type of servitude from me. "Some of the others," I hesitated at point fingers, "Well they've said things."

He frowned, "Who? Who would dare to insult you?" He colored to deep scarlet then and I knew who he was thinking of. There was a time when Kershean had the most insulting himself. "I'm…You don't know how awful I feel. You were right. I met someone: A girl in Lyon." I was not responsible for the jealously which gripped me momentarily. "She told me I was an oaf. I didn't know what that was. She had to explain it to me. That's when I knew how cruel I had been to you. If a stranger could see it, you were right to reject me," he muttered low and deep. I wasn't sure I was supposed to hear that last part.

"Kershean…."

"No, let me finish. I think you're brilliant. Just what we need. Most of our females are born and raised in the group, there is no education for any of them beyond the tasks they learn to nurture and aid the welfare of the camp. That's all that is ever offered to them. I'm afraid that most of us see them as inferior as a consequence of that."

He scooted closer to me, his eyes entreating me to understand, "But you're smart. Like the Old Woman, you are a free thinker. You can do great things. I know it."

By this point I was red as a tomato. No one had ever praised me before. Sure teachers and the nuns had commented when my work was superior, offered me a kind word here and there, but nothing ever like this. I didn't know what to say.

"If you can't forgive me, I understand. But I just wanted you to know the truth. You are a wonderful girl. I would be lucky to have you as a friend."

My head shot up, as the furs underneath him crinkled as he rose to go, "I'll see you around Samara." But this time, I knew he wouldn't. He was willing to let me go, he would leave me alone now. I had to say something.

"How did you get to Paris? 'Borrow' another motorbike?" I blurted out finally just before he lifted my fur door. Not what I wanted to say. I added a nervous laugh so hopefully he would know that I wasn't being serious.

Success! He laughed along with me, "I thought about it, I admit, but you cured me. I hitched a ride with this crazy priest with a huge chip on his shoulder. I couldn't get away from him quickly enough. I decided it would be more prudent to take the train."

"The train?"

"I…We don't use it very often. But I was in a bit of a hurry. You know."

We were treading on dangerous ground. I wanted to hear him laugh again, not spend our time talking about Daemon.

So I changed the subject and answered his plea, "I think humans are happy Kershean, because they choose to find things that bring happiness. They choose a certain career path because they enjoy it. They pick a spouse out of love, not duty. They have children, they go on vacations, they pursue hobbies, all for that brief feeling of euphoria." I looked at him carefully. He only motioned for me to continue. Now for the tough part, "All our energies are used to serve the furthering of the Neanderthal so that some day we will be the superior race. The only emotion involved is hatred. How could we ever be happy about something like that?"

He nodded. There was no snide remark, no angry glare, only, "that is what I thought too."

My eyebrow quirked again, "Oh really?"

"Well not in those exact words, mine were much more precise." He smiled at me, a smug and happy little grin,

"You're teasing me!"

His face instantly fell, "Is that alright?"

I patted him on the arm the first contact I had ever initiated, but it felt right, "We're friends Kershean. It's perfectly all right." And we could be friends. He had learned to be considerate, and every day I was learning to value him more. So les amis…But why did I get the feeling that I wasn't as interested in just being friends anymore?

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**Well I don't like this Chapter. Not up to my usual personal standard, but it will have to do, since it all needed to be said. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Alright guys, I took your comments to heart, and I gave them more of a courtship. Two more chapters! I'm still determined to have it all posted before I go, so you should hear from me tonight, and tomorrow morning before I get on the boat.**

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**Chapter 19**

So friends. I could do that. I could be friends with a ridiculously attractive man, who made my heart pound, and my stomach do that fluttery thing whenever he was around.

Yeah right.

I wasn't fooling anyone. But he wanted to be friends. And I guess I wanted to be…friends. I wasn't so sure if I was ready for more. Or even what that would be. Being friends was probably a good start since in my mind we had been some type of enemies before.

The first morning after our 'talk' I saw him on the way to breakfast. I wasn't really looking for him, but he _had_ always been impossible to miss. Even back when I'd hated him, I couldn't help but be hyperaware of him.

He was talking to a member of his own tribe, one of the statuesque women. I had seen her around occasionally. From what I'd understood, she was some type of warrior. She was so good at it that the men rescinded their edict that women couldn't hunt. Of course the rule only applied to her.

I didn't know that Kershean and her knew each other. And I didn't know why that bothered me. He probably wouldn't want to talk to me if he was busy with her. She was everything I was not, her hair was glossy and soft, her body toned and tan. I had gained a slight tummy from all of the good idle living up in the mountains. And my skin was raw and red from the frigid elements. I tried to duck by, remain inconspicuous, my head down.

"Hello Samara," he called, just as I began to pass. It was as if Kershean was watching out for me too.

I looked up shyly. He was completely ignoring his companion, and grinning at me. I couldn't help but smile in return and I waved. The woman tugged on his arm, and he turned away, something like regret on his face, maybe? Or was I just imagining that. They began talking again.

The next morning, he was in the same place he had been the previous day, just off to the side of the Old Woman's cave. And he was alone, though he appeared to be actively looking for someone. His eyes zeroed in on mine. He watched me for a moment as a slow and steady smile grew on his face. His hand raised and _he_ waved.

"Hi Kershean."

"How are you Samara?" His face was honestly curious. He really wanted to know, so I walked over to him.

"I'm doing well. Though I'm a little bored. There's not much to do with everyone packing."

"Have you finished packing up your belongings?"

"Well I don't have much. It's likely all still back at school, in a storage closet or something."

"There wasn't time to go back for it then. Was there anything you would like to have?"

I thought of my few possessions, the only thing of value was the hand-me-down laptop from Mother Superior, and even that wasn't worth much. My course books were the property of the school. There would only be my clothes which would not be very practical for travel, or for the colder temperatures in Siberia. "No, I don't think so, but thanks for offering."

"Are you certain? We can send someone…" He turned to go, facing down the mountain as if he would go that very moment if I ask him to.

"No it's not necessary, I promise. It was a different life."

After that, I saw him every morning in the exact same place. Sometimes he would be alone, and other times there would be someone with him. I had never seen him be so sociable before. Sometimes I would observe him surreptitiously before he saw me. Whoever he was talking to, he would always give them his undivided attention, his body angled towards them, listening attentively. Occasionally, his head would dart to the side like he was looking for someone. But it was never for very long, and his companions didn't seem to notice

My heart trembled. If he _was_ looking out for me, it made me feel, elated? Nervous? I settled for happy and my ego preened a bit. Because, every morning without fail, he would not let me pass without a smile or a few words spoken.

We never talked about anything important…well that wasn't entirely true, occasionally he would ask me my opinions on things that the council had been discussing.

"Samara, do you think we should be paying for all of our food?"

My answer had been a sure 'yes.' "Will it actually happen?" I had never really understood why they stole most of their food from farmer's fields, when they could just as easily buy the vegetables.

He sighed, "Probably not."

"Why don't we grow our own?"

"It's inhospitable here," he told me simply.

"I know that, but why can't we live somewhere where we can grow our own. My mom lives in the Black Forest, she grows her own things."

"I don't think the Black Forest is big enough for all of us to go unnoticed."

"There must be other places."

"Probably. I never thought of it. We discussed it slightly today, though right now there are other things I'm more worried about."

"Like the war."

He didn't say anything, just nodded, and I knew he didn't want to talk about it anymore. We had never had a frank conversation about how he felt about the war. I was pretty sure that he was against it. So I changed the subject, and we talked about other more pleasant things. Someday, he would tell me who he felt. I could be patient.

_Kershean was no longer satisfied with just seeing Samara before breakfast. Didn't the others realize what a treasure she was? She was brilliant. He hadn't been lying when he told her that. Her brain worked differently from his own. Probably due to her years among the humans. She had learned to study things out, making observations like they did. _

_Moving to the colder climate had happened before his lifetime, it had seemed wise since humans were infiltrating every corners of the globe. By nature they didn't relish the cold, not like the Neanderthal who rose and thrived during the last ice age. It was the perfect hiding place. _

_But maybe Samara was right. Why not try something new. The elders would never go for it now, as he was still too young, still too inexperienced for them to listen to him. But perhaps after the next base camp experience was barely a memory. He would be older, surely his father would be willing to abdicate his leadership by then. _

_Did Samara not like the cold? Is that why she wanted to go elsewhere? Did any of the others feel that way? But Samara had been the first to realize it, the first to say something. They needed someone like her around to suggest such things. If only she could be a member of the council. If only she could be his permanent advisor, his woman…If only._

_She was mostly accepting of him. They'd been getting along well. She was the Samara that he had observed at school, the one who smiled and laughed. It had been beautiful when she had laughed at a joke he had attempted. Really laughed. He'd had refrained, just barely from asking her to be his mate again. But things were better than he had ever dreamed they could be. Perhaps someday._

_He could hope. He could hardly stop himself from doing that. But he wouldn't push. He would be patient. Because he could tell. Even though she was trying to hide her insecurities, occasionally, she would be nervous around him. Occasionally he would have to beckon her over to him before she would come and talk to him. So she wasn't ready to hear how every morning he woke with a smile on his face. Or how the best part of his day was seeing her on her way to breakfast; her hair still a little mussed, her eyes half closed against the bright sun._

_He craved her presence like a narcotique. He had to see her more. Perchance she would agree to sharing one of her meals with him. He would ask her after the meeting._


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks as always to my reviewers!**

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**Chapter 20**

Kershean looked particularly glum later that afternoon. I had learned that there was an early evening council meeting daily; now that they were preparing to uproot the camp. Something must have gone wrong.

"Kershean?" I touched his arm tentatively.

He turned and smiled at me tightly, "Sorry, I was just thinking of something." His face was creased with worry.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm not sure why it bothers me. One of the men in the meeting today, he had a request from Artha and a few of the other artisan women. They want to take more supplies than we have budgeted space for."

"Why is it being discussed? Shouldn't it be up to them what they can carry?"

"They are already carrying other things."

"Yes but just a few more items. What's the big deal?"

"It would be too much for them feasibly. They are already carrying all the items from their respective caves."

"What! Why aren't their mates helping?"

"Well most of them will be helping to either carrying the kitchen supplies or scout out the areas we pass through."

"Okay, I can understand that…I guess. But if Artha and the others think they can carry the extra supplies then what's the big deal, let them do it."

"Well, the council says that they really shouldn't be allowed to decide such things."

"Because they're women?" A deaf man wouldn't have missed the dangerous glint to my voice.

"You're angry."

No, duh. "Kershean, you can't say something like that and not expect me to be angry!"

"I don't understand why this would make you so mad."

"You speak of women, like you're talking about a toaster." I tried to keep my voice low, but I couldn't help growling the words out.

"What's a toaster?"

"Argh!" I scrunched up my face, as I tried to calm my ire, "Okay like a piece of the furniture. I don't like being compared to an ottoman."

"What's an…"

"It doesn't matter! Look, why didn't you say something."

"What was I supposed to say? Obviously I didn't agree with him."

"Then tell him!"

"It's complicated Samara!" He looked at me long and hard breathing heavy. I wasn't in any better shape. One more word from him and I'll…He walked away.

I didn't sleep well that night. Truthfully, I hardly slept at all. I was too consumed with what I would say to Kershean the next time I saw him. I waited until I could smell the bread baking before I left for the dining hall. It was the same time I went to breakfast every morning.

My steps were faltering. Now that we were friends I was worried that our one squabble would ruin things. I didn't like thinking about losing him. He wasn't standing beside the Old Woman's cave. Had I truly offended him that badly? Or, did he not really mean it when he told me he wanted to know my opinions. No, I wouldn't think that way. After hours of contemplating exactly that, I had decided that didn't ring true.

_I_ had been harsh the day before. _I_ had made it sound like I was blaming him. And initially I probably was. I shouldn't have done that. The council was entirely about a type of pre-dated authority. And right now, Kershean didn't have any. He could lose his seat, or far worse if he chose to interfere about the wrong thing. And I had said the wrong thing to him.

Glumly I continued on to the kitchens, and gathered my food; though I hardly paid attention to anything I put on my plate. A few stupid words from me spoken without thinking and I had ruined it all.

_She was right over there, toying with her bread. She looked upset about something. He really should go over and talk to her. But after yesterday? He had been a brute, yelling at her like that. Had he undone all of the progress they had made. What must she think of him?_

"_Just go over there. Apologize!" He coached himself. _

_Her shoulders were slumped, and she was staring at her bread forlornly. Eventually, she set it down and slid the plate away. He could understand. After their fight he hadn't been interested in eating dinner. And though it had been several hours since he'd had anything, he still wasn't very hungry._

"_Samara?" He hoped she didn't notice the way his voice trembled._

"_Hi Kershean." Her own voice was timid. He breathed out a sigh. She wasn't still offended._

"_Can I sit with you?"_

_She didn't say anything, she just nodded. Okay, perhaps she was a little angry._

"_Kershean?" With her voice still low, and her eyes big like ping-pong balls, she looked like she was about to cry. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to you. Can we just forget the whole thing?"_

"_You're not angry with me?"_

_She flushed, "No. I was never really angry at you. I hope I didn't offend you?"_

"_No!...No," he hastened to reassure her, "I uh…I was very worried…I didn't want you to think that I don't value Artha. For a long time she acted as my mother. I have gone to her and offered to carry her supplies."_

_Her eyes widened, though he didn't quite understand why. Was there something wrong with helping Artha? She muttered something that sounded like, "Too be true." He didn't understand, but before he could contemplate it, she smiled at him brightly and he nearly forgot his name._

"_Well good! I'm glad that's all over. Don't you have any food? Here, you can have some of my toast. I got too much. Not sure how that happened."_

_She was babbling, but it didn't annoy him like it had before. In fact he couldn't remember a time when he didn't find it endearing. "I would love some toast." _

Lately Kershean had taken to finding me in the dining hall so we could share a meal together. It was always random when he would appear.

Like now, "Is this seat taken?" He spoke at my left as I pushed my shredded chicken across my plate.

"Hi." I smiled up at him. He smiled back at me and I think I might have started drooling a bit.

"Is that a yes, or a no?"

"Oh! Please sit."

"What's going on here?" He pointed to my plate.

"Ah well," I started embarrassed. "I'm having a mock battle. Chicken versus peas. See the peas start over here, the chicken over there, and you scoot them back and forth, and see which one will win."

"And who will win?"

"Well the chicken, of course."

"And the roll?"

"Ah yes, that is for the bodies."

"But there are more peas than chicken on your plate. Shouldn't they win because of superior numbers?"

"Well see that's the thing," I finally admitted shamefacedly, "I don't like peas much. At the orphanage the nuns always made me eat them. I could only stomach a few. I would hide the rest under my other food."

"You don't have to eat them now you know."

"Yeah, yeah I know. But Elverna back in the kitchen was eying me as I made my choices. She reminds me of this one nun. She was one scary lady. 'More vegetables. We want you good and strong,' she would cackle at us. It was all very traumatizing," I sniffed with an air of authority.

I snuck a look at Kershean. He was biting him lip, trying to keep from laughing. "I know it's silly, but I thought maybe if I tried them again…"

"You still hate them, don't you?"

My shoulders slumped, "Yes! They really are horrid little things."

"Some people like them."

"I guess."

"Do you think that we should stop serving peas because not everyone likes them?"

And we weren't talking about peas anymore. "I don't think that would be very fair, do you? I mean to the peas lovers that is."

"Sometimes people don't think about fairness. They just think about what's best for them."

"But what if it hurts others?" I whispered.

"I don't want that to happen." He whispered back, "I'm trying really hard to talk the 'pea haters' out of doing something drastic."

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**See you tomorrow...**


	21. Chapter 21

**Alright, this is it!!!**

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**Chapter 21**

I was very glad that I had gotten a chance to clear the air with Kershean. His words had been carefully coded, and low. He didn't want to be overheard because it was a delicate time among the council. And his meaning had been clear. The Exium Solus had survived the betrayal of Daemon and put up a united front, but the small hints from Kershean had let me know how shook up they really were. Emotions were high, "Revenge!" was nearly shouted from the cave tops. I was glad Kershean was not siding with the others. It was days before I saw him again.

In fact I didn't see any of the men in all that time. It didn't bother me especially at first, I thought perhaps he had gone on some type of scouting mission. But when it had been six meals since we had last eaten together I began to get concerned. Why did it bother me especially? It wasn't like we were anything more than friends, right? But I…I missed him. I hardly realized how close we had become. How much I looked forward to our conversations.

The women moved about their chores fluidly, packing up the belongings of their caves and the kitchens. Old pottery pieces were being ground into dust and scattered to the wind so that no one would ever notice our existence in the modern world. I watched them, wondering if I could help, but knowing I could never do it as effectively as they did. So, there was nothing to distract me from being lonely.

At least I think it was loneliness. At school, segregated as I was from the others, I had never felt like this, even if I spent weeks with hardly any human contact. There was something new going on with me, something unfamiliar. I couldn't pinpoint when it had started, and I couldn't figure out exactly what it was. But one thing I did know. Kershean played an integral part in it.

I didn't think it was normal to feel this way about a friend. And when he finally did join me one day, around noon, seeking me out in one of my hiding/thinking places, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. But it was okay because he was grinning down at me like I was the most important thing in the world.

He sat beside me liked he belonged there, and my world suddenly felt better.

"I haven't seen you in awhile."

"The first groups of our people have started leaving. I've been helping them pass uninhibited." He tugged at his hair and cleared his throat, "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

"Should I be worried?" It was spoken in jest but I was getting a bit worried.

"No. it's just, the last time we talked about it: Well it wasn't good. It was completely my fault…"

"Kershean?" I grabbed his fingers, "it's okay alright. That's all over, okay?"

He squeezed my hand tightly before he answered. "Okay." He breathed in and out, "Well it's just that, you said you wanted to travel. See Morocco, and the world. Do you still want to do that?"

I could feel my grin splitting my face in two, "More than anything."

He blinked something away. A look I couldn't process, "I thought you might. I've been looking into it. The council isn't thrilled. They want everyone to stay close while we're moving, but myself, your father, and the old woman vouched for you."

"Thank you."

"It was nothing really, and they didn't go on my word alone." He shrugged it away like it _was_ nothing, "Anyway, I got you some money for it." He pulled a thick wad of Euros from his pocket, tied up with a piece of twine. "It's not a lot, but it will at least get you to a few places. I don't know what will be happening in the next few years. If you really want to travel, you should go soon." He shoved the cash towards me, "Here, take it. I'm sorry it couldn't be more."

He was letting me go! Daemon had always promised me so faithfully that he would let me travel. Kershean was actually doing it, fulfilling a dream _he_ had never offered, "I wish I could go with you. There are lots of places I've never been. But they need me. At least to keep the 'pea haters' at bay."

Kershean insisted on walking me down to the nearest train station. Artha and my father were busy, and he claimed that I needed at least someone there to see me off. I wondered if Artha and my father really were busy, or if Kershean just wanted to walk me down himself. Not that I was complaining. I had been getting mixed signals from him lately. Did he really just want to be friends? Occasionally there would be contact, a hand on a shoulder, fingers touching. But only occasionally, and never for very long. And I would initiate it as often as he did.

So we walked down together, not close, but not apart either. Really it was awkward, as we plodded along on the same path, but distances apart. Would it always be like this?

He took my hand every time we went over rocks if he noticed me struggling, but promptly let go as soon as I was free. His hand was always firm as he held on to me, always warm as my flesh tingled against his. And every time he let go, I felt like I was missing something.

Grenoble is big, but as I stood at the train station with Kershean, it felt painfully small. It was if the entire world was focused on us, and what was about to happen in the next few minutes. I was leaving! And he was just standing there, hands in his pockets, looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

Thirty minutes until the train would depart, and I was too stubborn to climb aboard just yet. We were each stubbornly keeping the conversation light and pleasant. Currently we were talking about our traveling experiences. His first time on a train had been when he was fifteen, and mine when I was twelve. I had been on my way to my first boarding school and he was searching for supplies that couldn't be found nearby.

We talked about the tribal move in low voices so we wouldn't be overheard. He told me where I could find them when I was ready to come home. They were going to Siberia. Deep into the Altai mountains. He told me of a particular check point along the ridge, already scouted, where I could stop and arrange to be met to be led up the rest of the way. He taught me the Exium Solus words I could write in a note if I needed help or was in trouble. And where I could go to get more money if I needed it.

But we didn't talk about us. Which was what I was desperate to know. Did he still want me? Sometimes he acted like he did. But maybe it was just because he was being kind.

The train sounded, it was time to go. Kershean stuck out his hand, "Well goodbye Samara."

A handshake! It wasn't good enough. I waved the hand away and stepped towards him, my hands touching his shoulders, then I encircled his neck. He sighed into my ear, and his strong arms engulfed me, lighting my insides on fire. I wanted to stay there forever, but I could hear the conductor, getting impatient with the stragglers like me still on the train platform.

I pulled away slightly, and then in an act of courage, I bent forward to kiss him on the cheek.

Only I missed. Because at that exact moment, Kershean turned to look at me, and our lips collided. It was so brief that I almost doubted that it had happened. We both backed away like we had been shocked. Black eyes stared into equally black eyes. He was searching mine very carefully. Energy sparkled between us. I ducked my head and smiled.

"Samara." It was like a prayer, longing and reverent as it sounded from his lips.

I looked up and right at him. I moved a millimeter, perhaps less, and that was all it took.

Our mouths met again. It wasn't a perfect kiss. Our teeth occasionally sparred, and sometimes I misjudged and kissed the skin right at the side of his mouth. Truthfully, the kiss was wet and loud. And absolutely perfect. Whereas Daemon's kisses made me forget my own name, Kershean's reminded me of who I wanted to be. I wanted to be his. Imperfect, stuttering, and confusing. But his all the same. He poured everything he had into that one kiss. An eternity of emotions. I hoped I was doing the same. His fingers were gripping my cheeks lightly, holding me there. I knew then how much he desperately wanted me to stay. And in that moment, I wanted to stay forever. I wanted to be wherever he was.

But all things have an end. Ours came when the conductor nearly shouted in my ear, "Madamoiselle! la gare!"

Kershean pulled back, took one last long look at me, his eyes saying what he couldn't verbalize and pushed me towards the door. He looked down at his shoes, the boots he had taken from DeWittier, so long ago. Things had been so different then. I had changed, just as he had.

I turned to go, and he grabbed me by the hand, sending tingles down my spine, he looked me right in the eye, "I'll wait for you Samara. I'll always wait for you. Just come back to me." His voice was hoarse like he was trying to keep his emotions under control.

The conductor had jumped into the car, and he was holding out his hand for my ticket. I hesitated.

_To be continued…_

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**I know I know! ***_Dodges a bullet*_

**It's just that, I'm not sure how I want to start the next part! **_*Ducks underneath the swinging pitchfork*_

**I can't decide if she should stay or go, and Samara is just as indecisive. ***_The shadow of a pipe rises, shooting a small dart into the back of the author. _

_She whirls around*_**Et tu noukinav018? ***_The author passes out…*_


	22. Epilogue Notes

Just a few things to get you excited for part three!

It will be predominately from Kershean's point of view.

There will be world-saving involved, angsty goodness, nuggets of humor, and in case anyone was wondering we will find out what happened to Kershean's mother.

What I'm writing right now…

_He didn't want her to go. But he couldn't tell her that. He wouldn't dare tell her that. Because __**she**__ wanted to go. He could see it on her face. He could see it in her excited step as she tromped off the mountain beside him._

So yeah, I better get back to it.


End file.
